Zero
by Artisan's Cousin
Summary: A single moment in time changes the course of destiny. In the shattered aftermath of battle, Ichigo must make a decision. He'll give anything to protect his friends. Even if it means joining ... them.
1. Acuerdo

**Zero**

**Acuerdo**

The wharves of Karakura Town were a rundown area, sprawled along the river's edge, the fringe of the industrial district. It had been the stomping ground of the Karakura Skulls for years, and they had only really cleared out after the police got hold of their infamous leader. The tagged walls of the broken warehouses were the only remnant of the rowdy gang, the alleys crowded with the refuse of decades past. Only a few haunted the derelict quarter now, the outcast ghosts of the better part of the city taking refuge from the disdainful eyes of Karakura's citizens in the dank setting of the riverside area.

Ichigo scowled as he kicked over an empty trash can, wrinkling his nose in distaste as a fowl odor wafted up from the drum's spilt contents. He had always hated this place. Even before he had known that it was one of the first places in Karakura that a Hollow would emerge, he had hated it for its ghosts. There were more ghosts in this tiny, abandoned section of industry, than in the rest of the city's districts combined.

And, as it had always been whenever he found a restless soul, the ghosts spoke of death.

He stopped as the trace of reiatsu he had been following wavered, but continued on with a quirk of his lips when it returned full force only seconds later. So they knew. Not really a surprise, considering who they were. Odds were they'd been playing with him the whole time. Or at least, it sounded like something their pain in the ass leader would do anyway.

A low cackle echoed in the distance.

Ichigo stiffened, his hesitation only the briefest of seconds. Not changing his pace, he glanced into the grime-streaked glass of one of the worn down shop-fronts, surreptitiously peeking at the reflection of the alley behind him, futilely wishing that he would see the owner of the voice staring back at him. That thought almost brought him to a halt. No, there was not even the slightest chance that he wanted to meet that particular … _thing_.

Shivering involuntarily, he attempted, unsuccessfully, to push away the notion that the little voice had echoed, not from the broken streets of the Karakura wharves, but from somewhere far darker.

Somewhere within his soul.

Scowling, he quickened his pace.

As if it could sense his urgency, the reiatsu exploded, so heavy in the air that it would have forced lesser souls to their knees. Its sheer force reminded Ichigo of his first … excursion into Soul Society, and the less-than-warm welcome given him by the Eleventh Division Captain, Zaraki Kenpachi. But while that had been a tangible threat, and weighed on him heavily, this was far less aggressive, leading him ever onward.

Toward the home of the Vizard.

He glanced out over the river, barely able to make out the lights of the city on the other side. Looking upstream, he could see the bridge where he had made his pact with Chad – so long ago it seemed – and beyond it, where the green slopes of the riverbanks blurred into the lines of the city in the dusk's azure haze. Somewhere within that mess of buildings was the clinic, his home, and that one, lonely street where it had all began.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he barely managed to stop himself from walking straight into the steel door of one of the waterfront warehouses. He glanced up at it ruefully, eyes skating over the rusted surface and the battered sign which read _Takahashi & Co_. Perfectly nondescript, no different from the dozens of other warehouses which lined the wharves. Not one thing about the structure suggested that eight of the most powerful souls in any of the three worlds would be hiding within.

Well, apart from the monumental reiatsu overflowing from the warehouse's walls anyway.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed through the doors of the old building.

Almost as soon as the door clicked shut behind him, the constant flow of reiatsu was cut off. Ichigo was barely aware of the change; the object of his search was arrayed out before him, their expressions carefully doctored to blank impassivity. Well, all but one. And, in spite of his earlier plans to keep his cool, Ichigo couldn't help the irritated scowl that twisted his features as he saw the smug grin that stretched the lips of one Shinji Hirako.

"You're late!" A pause, "Well, later than I expected, considering how much reiatsu we were throwing at you."

His frustration disappeared, replaced by confusion, "You knew I'd come?"

Shinji's face shifted instantly, his smirk replaced by a grim stare, "After last night's performance? We were surprised you weren't breaking down our door at dawn."

Ichigo ground his teeth together, a cold spear of pain shooting through him as images of the Arrancar attack assaulted him. The ring of wicked laughter, as cold as ice, shaking with the grip of insanity. Darkness, swallowing him, consuming him. And worst; a pair of frightened brown eyes, the vitality slowly seeping away from the dark irises.

Restraining an instinctive shiver, he gave the Vizard a level look, "I'm here now, aren't I?"

Much to his relief, Shinji let it go, "Yes, for now, I suppose that's all that matters."

There was a moment's uncomfortable silence, with Ichigo feeling suddenly out of place under the gaze of the Vizard leader. Doubts ate away at the edges of his conviction, burning away at the small amount of determination that remained in him. Snarling inwardly at his own feeble resolve, he steeled himself, meeting Shinji's gaze directly, "I'll do it."

He tried to block out the raised eyebrows, the absence of faith. It was as if they knew. Knew that he desperately wanted to be able to take back the words he had said. Or better; to swing back the pendulum, undo the actions that had led him here in the first place. It was not what he wanted; to become an outcast, a member of a society remote and small, isolated from the rest of the three worlds. It would be hard and lonely, and had there been any other alternative, he would have taken it without a second's hesitation.

Though, judging by the faintest hint of sympathy in the eyes of the Vizard, it appeared that they too regretted his loss.

But any signs of empathy vanished as Shinji grinned, spreading his arms out wide, "Now that's more like it! If only you'd agreed when I first offered, then a lot of … trouble may have been avoided." His expression turned serious, eyes boring into the Kurosaki's downtrodden ones, "Believe me, Ichigo, if you hadn't come, you'd be walking across your friends' graves in weeks."

The wide grin returned, "But I don't think I've properly introduced my fellows. From the right!"

With a sardonically grandiose wave, he gestured to the seven people laid about behind him, "That brooding guy over there is Mugurumu Kensei, and the girl in front of him is Kuna Mashiro." Kensei gave him a curt nod, which Ichigo returned with equal fervor, while Mashiro winked cheekily, to which Ichigo couldn't help but roll his eyes. "The big guy next to her is our resident Kidō expert, Ushōda Hachigen, and the one beside him is Aikawa Love." Both Hachigen and Love bowed politely, Ichigo stiffly returning the gesture. "The next two are Yadōmaru Risa, and, of course, Rose." Risa didn't even look up from the manga her head was buried in, and Rose's eyes only darted up for a brief acknowledgment before falling back to the record he was examining. "And finally, we have Sarugaki Hiyori."

Unlike the other seven, whose reception of him ranged from Mashiro's enthusiasm, to Risa's quiet indifference, Hiyori's response was decidedly hostile. She directed a dark glare at Ichigo, before apparently dismissing him and shifting her gaze toward Shinji with an apparently implacable scowl. Despite himself, the Substitute Shinigami felt a spike of irritation at the girl's attitude, his own inherent temper bubbling beneath the surface.

"You'll have plenty of time to get to know them," Shinji continued, eyeing Hiyori with annoyance, "But we have a bit more than idle chatter to deal with at the moment."

Ichigo tensed; this was what he had been waiting for, "What do I have to do?"

"In a hurry?" Shinji chuckled, before abruptly turning serious, "Look, we'll teach you to control it, but you have to do something for us first." At the Kurosaki's frown, a wry expression, "We're not gonna ask for Soul Society's secrets or anything; to be honest, we're not really interested. What we want, is something far more valuable." He paused, gauging Ichigo's reaction.

Inwardly, the boy was seething. His original plan had been to gain some sort of foothold in the Vizard, an exchange of sorts; himself for support in the war with the Arrancar, or something like that anyway. But somewhere since his arrival, he'd lost any element of control he may have had. He was now fully dependant on their decision to give him control over the monster that resided within him.

If their methods were anything like Urahara's, he wasn't sure he'd stick around, no matter what he promised them.

"To swear allegiance to the Vizard," Shinji murmured, utterly derailing his train of thought. Ichigo couldn't help but stare as the Vizard leader continued in a soft voice, "We are not asking you to completely sever ties with your friends here, but your ultimate loyalty must lie with us. In other words –"

"Ah, just shut it, Shinji!"

The Vizard leader's face scrunched up in a fierce scowl as the diminutive Sarugaki Hiyori landed beside him, "There's no call for messing with the guy, even if he is just some punk kid." Turning to the now-fuming Ichigo, she scowled, "And you. I don't think we really need to bandy about with you anymore. What Shinji's saying is pretty clear, right?"

For a moment, his temper fought with his despair. Yeah, he knew exactly what the Vizard were asking of him. There was no point in them spelling it out; though Hiyori seemed intent on doing so anyway, if only to piss him off.

She grinned smugly, "Plain and simple, we're asking you to pick _us_ over Soul Society. Sure, you can talk to your pals from school whenever the hell you feel like it, y'know, the Princess and the Tiger. And hey, if you really want, you can even pick up a job or two from the higher-ups over in the Sereitei. But, when it comes right down to it, you pick the Vizard over the Shinigami. If we're on par with them, then whatever, you're still cool with them." She paused, "But, if our ideas ever conflict with theirs, if ever _we_ are against Soul Society-"

"-I think he gets the picture," Shinji muttered irritably, throwing a dark look her way. Seeing Ichigo's pained look, he sighed, "Look, the odds of us ever directly confronting Soul Society are a million-to-one. A band of nine Shinigami-Hollow hybrids is hardly a match for the united power of the Gotei Thirteen." He paused, "That said, Hiyori is essentially spot on. You want our help, you join our side. _That's_ the deal."

The Kurosaki grimaced. In the dark corners of his mind, he thought he could already hear _him_, mocking, questioning Ichigo's sanity. It was tearing him apart from within. And yet, the price of the Vizard's training made him shiver. To give them his loyalty, even over that of the Gotei Thirteen, was beyond ludicrous. He knew next to nothing about them, and they expected him to trust them. The whole situation pissed him off no end.

Though his fury was somewhat dulled by his unspoken fear of what might happen if he _didn't_ accept their offer.

The bastards had backed him into a corner; they had to know he had no choice. Glancing up at Shinji, who was grinning that infuriating grin once more, he adopted his equally infamous scowl.

"Deal."


	2. Remolcador Tu Dios

**Zero**

**Chapter 1**

**Remolcador ****Tu Dios**

It was not that often that something made Kurosaki Ichigo nervous. By the age of fifteen, he'd already managed to defeat two Captains of Soul Society's Gotei Thirteen, and another four Shinigami at the level of Lieutenant. Hell, even before he'd absorbed Rukia's power and started taking down Hollows, he'd faced down entire gangs without breaking a sweat. While still not quite as skilled as Tatsuki was, he could well and truly hold his own against any of the thugs he came across in Karakura. So, suffice to say, it was a rare occasion when he would have any unease when faced with … adverse situations.

This was one of those occasions.

All eight Vizard were staring at him intently, their purpose masked behind well-trained eyes. Even Hiyori seemed unsurprised that he had accepted, as impossible as the decision was.

"Hah, not like you had much of a choice," she muttered.

Ichigo's eyebrow twitched, but he remained silent. Shinji glanced at her irritably, before looking pointedly at the newly instated Vizard, "Well, what are you waiting for? Ditch the body. We won't get anything done if you're stuck inside that useless thing."

Nodding quickly – and trying to suppress his annoyance at the Vizard's commanding tone – he reached into his pocket and pressed down upon the Skull Seal. A surreal rush, the other-worldly sensation of being wrenched from his body, and he was before them, the familiar weight of Zangetsu a heavy comfort on his back.

Glancing up, he was surprised to see that Shinji wore a disapproving look, while Hiyori was snickering softly.

"What?"

Shinji pointed disdainfully at his body, which was now sprawled across the concrete floor, "That Pass. It's an inconvenience." He sighed, "Seems we won't be just teaching you to hold the reins."

Ichigo raised an eyebrow at his odd choice of words, but Shinji waved it aside. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the hard voice of Kensei called out from the group still splayed on the concrete steps, "Before we do anything, I want to know more about his Hollow." A hushed gasp erupted from Mashiro's corner, but the others remained unperturbed.

Ichigo, on the other hand, frowned, "If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not talk about … _him_."

There was a tense moment, and then Hiyori snorted, "What a wimp."

Fed up, Ichigo spun to the diminutive Vizard to tell her exactly where she could stick her wise-ass cracks. The girl sneered at him, goading him, begging him to speak.

But, once again, Shinji beat him to the punch, "Shut-_up_ Hiyori!" Shifting his gaze back to the Kurosaki, he raised his eyebrows speculatively, "Well, I s'pose the best course of action would be to see what you can do. No point in helping you unless we know where the problem is."

"Or what draws _it_ out," Love added quietly.

Ichigo shifted uncomfortably, "Actually, I already do." At Shinji's raised eyebrow, he hurried on, "He … it … is strongest when I'm using Bankai. I can't use the Getsuga Tenshō technique more than once or twice at most." He paused, "At least, not without giving enough ground for him to take control … what?"

Shinji was staring at him with an oddly discontented expression, while Hiyori wore one of utter loathing. The Vizard on the steps seemed equally shocked, though none held the outright disdain of the Sarugaki. Although her words dismissed any doubt as to why the whole group was so put out by his admission.

"You're scared of it," she said disgustedly, leaning back against the wall.

Feeling the heat rising in his neck, he glared, "That's something I have to deal with."

Somewhere in the background, Kensei snorted.

"That's going to be a problem when you're trying to control it," Shinji finally said, "But we'll worry about that later. At the moment, all I'm asking of you, Ichigo, is a simple, one-to-one, spar session. I don't expect you to pull your Hollow out of his cage yet; hell, I doubt you could do it even if you tried." He gave the Kurosaki a piercing look, "But we need to know what you can do – how you fight – before we can even think about suppressing that Hollow."

Ichigo gave him a wary look, before slowly nodding.

Shinji grinned, "Good. The evaluation ends when you hit me. Not necessarily with that oversized kitchen knife; if you can hit me with your fists, then that will also end the test." He chuckled; to himself, slyly; to Ichigo, annoyingly, "Of course, that depends on whether you can even fight with something as clumsy as that."

A dozen plans flew through his head as he drew Zangetsu from the sash over his shoulder. It would be difficult to catch Shinji on his own. There was no doubt that he could never do it if Shinji was determined to remain out of reach. He could only hope that he would be able to satisfy the Vizard's curiosity to the point where Shinji would no longer want to draw the fight out. Stubbornly ignoring the empty feeling in the pit of his stomach, he adopted a basic stance, blocking out every other aspect as he focused in on the slouched figure of Hirako Shinji. Hiyori, Kensei, the Vizard, the warehouse … all faded into inconsequentiality as he prepared to strike.

After all, no good ever came from starting off on the defensive.

With a measured step, he charged.

Shinji grinned, expertly flipping his zanpakutō into a ready position, "Impatience is a virtue."

_CLANG!_

Steel met thinly-sheathed steel. Feeling the slight jar of the contact, Ichigo pressed heavily against Shinji's blade. With a theatrical yawn, the Vizard leader pushed back, effortlessly throwing his opponent away. Scowling, Ichigo pushed off from the wall where he'd landed, and, with a quick shunpo, struck at Shinji's undefended back. The Vizard snorted, ducking lazily as Zangetsu's broad blade sailed over his shoulder. Rapidly shifting his stance, Ichigo shifted the balance of his weapon's strike, angling it toward Shinji's crouched form.

"Not bad," Shinji muttered, knocking the huge zanpakutō away with ease, his grin still firmly in place, "But you're gonna have to do a hell of a lot better if you want to hit me."

Frowning, Ichigo swiftly switched to shunpo … or, at least, he tried to use the flash steps. A firm grip on Zangetsu's blade wrenched him back, and he had to bite back a sharp curse as Shinji's sheathed zanpakutō _whapped_ the back of his skull.

"Come on!" Hirako complained, "Like this, you could barely hold your own against a Shinigami Lieutenant, let alone an Arrancar. Show me what you're really made of."

Gradually letting his frustration override his common sense, Ichigo thrust backward with Zangetsu's hilt. Letting go of the weapon, Shinji spun adroitly out of range, chuckling before adopting an offensive stance. Without hesitation, he charged, zanpakutō still sheathed. Ichigo barely had time to raise Zangetsu in a semi-prepared defence before the Vizard was upon him.

Shinji was relentless. From the left, right, above, left again. Ichigo could barely keep up with his eyes, let alone with his sword. Every time the Vizard swung his sheath, a distinctive _clack_ rang out through the empty air. Welts rose on his arms, his legs, his sides. He could feel the pain gradually building, his control slipping.

On the borders of his mind, a peal of laughter, ringing with insanity.

Forcing himself to focus, he saw it; opportunity, a break in Shinji's impenetrable assault. Seizing the moment, he lunged, swinging the flat side of Zangetsu beneath the Vizard's arm. The Hirako had the decency to look surprised before a lightning shunpo whipped him out of harm's way. Pressing his advantage, Ichigo vanished, already in mid-swing when he appeared behind the floating Shinji. The Vizard grinned as he swung his sheath over his shoulder, easily blocking the strike.

Hissing in frustration, the Kurosaki lashed out beneath the blade in an awkward kick. Spinning deftly out of the way, Shinji _thwhacked_ his sheath into Ichigo's unprotected flank, eliciting a low curse from the increasingly aggravated Shinigami. Turning Zangetsu, he swung wildly at the Hirako, who merely dodged with a soft chuckle.

It was that laugh which did it. He knew he shouldn't, considering how closely it was related to _him_. He tried to make an excuse for himself, inwardly thinking that the quicker he ended the fight the better. But, deep down, he knew.

As usual, it was his bad temper that had betrayed him.

Raising the curved blade of Zangetsu above his head, he rapidly channeled as much of his reiryoku as he could into the blade. Almost instantly, a bright blue glow erupted around the weapon, causing Shinji to raise a thin eyebrow. Ichigo knew what he meant; he knew he shouldn't be using the Getsuga Tenshō. It was, after all, _his_ technique.

But still, the Hollow had only exerted his influence during Bankai, so maybe the Shikai version would not draw him out.

Maybe … he hoped.

The glowing blue flicker of Zangetsu drove any vestige of doubt from his mind; after all, _his_ colour was black. Focusing intently on the still hovering Shinji, he swung the zanpakutō in a wide arc, his voice a triumphant roar.

"Getsuga Tenshō!"

No sooner had the words left his lips, than the shining blue beam of energy turned an all-too familiar shade of jet black, the crimson fringes sweeping toward the still Hirako in a menacing curve. Grinning slightly, the Vizard's feet instinctively carried him away with a quick shunpo, the deadly attack arching past him as it tore through the stone blocks piled along the warehouse's walls, only fading when it struck Hachigen's Kidō barrier.

Turning leisurely, Shinji grinned as he saw the Kurosaki, frozen in the stance from which he had launched his assault.

Ichigo hadn't seen anything beyond the moment he released Zangetsu's technique.

For the moment that the blast left his blade, an icy wave of nausea gripped him, the insane sound of _his_ voice echoing across his consciousness. It demanded control, ringing with the lust for power, the lust for dominance. And, as _he_ had for weeks now, he pressed Ichigo, pushing, struggling to find purchase, and overthrow the Shinigami's control.

And, as ever, Ichigo pushed back, banishing it to the depths of his mind.

He knew where he had made the mistake. _He_ had been the one who named it; Getsuga Tenshō was the name that _he_ had given it, the name that had given the technique its real power. Ichigo had been naïve to think that he could use the ability's full power. He felt a surge of frustration; he really was an idiot if he couldn't even stop himself from accidentally drawing the Hollow out.

Drawing a deep breath, he probed his consciousness warily. He could feel it faintly, a constant presence on the very edges of his soul. If he'd put any more power into the technique, he probably would have had a much harder time throwing it off. Either way, he wasn't going to risk another Getsuga Tenshō, not now.

"Interesting move you have there," Shinji chuckled, breaking the boy from his thoughts. Ichigo snarled at the guy's smug expression, his dread paralleling his rising fear as he felt the dark entity flare within him. He _had_ to keep a rein on his temper.

"Pity you can't contr-"

A sandal-clad foot slammed into him, pushing him to the floor in a merciless kick.

"You really love the sound of your own voice, don'cha baldy?" Hiyori growled, pressing her heel into the older Vizard's back, "All you had to do was press him a bit harder, and the damned thing would already have broken out. But no; you even managed to screw that up."

"If you'd only have a bit of patience," Shinji spat from the floor, "You'd know that he's already on the verge of losing it."

Ichigo felt an icy shaft of fear run through him. Shinji had said that this was meant to be a simple spar. But from what they were saying, it almost sounded as if …

"You're trying to draw it out," he murmured softly, his voice less than a whisper; less than a sigh.

Though barely audible, Hiyori apparently heard him clearly enough, turning with a trademark scowl on her face, "Very observant, genius." She paused to throw a disdainful look at Shinji, before continuing, "Yeah we want to pull it out. According to this baldy, we can't even begin to work on you until we have some idea of what your Hollow can do."

"What do you mean?" Ichigo asked warily, hating the way his voice echoed his fear.

"Well we're hardly going to be able to teach you to control a Hollow we know nothing about," scoffed Kensei.

"We need to know what kind of Hollow it is, and what sort of power it has before we do anything," Risa offered, speaking for the first time since his arrival, "For all we know, it could be one of the more rational Hollows, and that would make _our_ job a lot easier."

"Or a lot harder," Love pointed out.

"Or harder," Risa amended, "But on the other hand, it might be a complete berserker; one of those out-of-control bastards that attacks without the least bit of provocation, usually with unbelievable power." A hesitation, "In either case, we have to know, and this is the only way to test him without giving him full control of your power."

"It's a controlled environment," Hachigen rumbled in an attempt to placate the agitated Kurosaki, "Even if it used your Shinigami powers against us, it would be hard pressed to defeat even one of us Vizard, let alone all eight. There isn't a possibility that you would be able to hurt anyone; we would not allow it."

He knew that their explanations made perfect logical sense. It pissed him off that they had tried without so much as a warning, but he understood. He also knew that with the entire might of the Vizard arrayed against him, there was not even the slightest chance that he'd be able to hurt any of them. Moreover, the wharves of Karakura were so rundown that the only thing he'd be able to find within three miles, living or dead, would probably be nothing more than some unfortunate stray. But, in spite of their infallible precautions, he was unwilling. The loud, brash part of him told him that it was just another aspect of his character, that he hated being told what to do.

He ignored the annoying little voice that whispered of the raw fear of that which was harbored deep within him.

Though he tried to keep a rein on his emotions, his defiance must have shone in his eyes. Risa and Hachigen sighed softly, while Shinji's calm expression belied his frustration.

"Well, if you're not gonna bring it out to play," Hiyori smirked, "I guess I'm going to be the one to tug your god out."

Grimacing, Ichigo slowly raised Zangetsu, trying to disregard the darkness eating away at the fringes of his vision. If he had to fight Hiyori, he couldn't afford any distractions. Unfortunately, the ring of malevolent snickering was enough to sufficiently wear away any vestige of focus that he may have had.

"Oh, and don't think I'll be going easy on you, like this idiot was," Hiyori said derisively, waving bluntly at Shinji's prone form, "He was all for being soft on you 'til you managed to pull it out yourself. But if you're too much of a chicken to cooperate, then there's only one way to do it." Placing her fingertips on her fringe, she grinned, "All it takes is a quick trip to the dark side of the universe."

And then, without hesitation, she ripped downwards.

Ichigo knew what to expect; he'd seen Shinji's mask when the Vizard first introduced himself. But he still wasn't quite prepared for the way the bone-white substance formed around Hiyori's face, her sclera turning a hollow black, her irises a rusted yellow. His grip tightened on Zangetsu as a long horn shot out of the gradually forming mask, desperately trying to ignore the Hollow prowling the borders of his mind.

"You can try to run," she said, tone echoing strangely in the open air, "Though I doubt you'll get far. And to be honest, you don't seem to be the kinda guy who'd save his own scrawny ass if it meant putting other people's heads on the block. After all, the power of the Hollow ain't so easy to control when there're hundreds of people about."

Ichigo glared at her icily, his voice shaking, "Shut-up!"

Hiyori grinned, "You'd better pray that you can get your act together and let him out, or else …"

Vanishing in the blink of an eye, Ichigo had just long enough to realize that she _hadn't_ used a form of shunpo – and that he was in far more danger than he had anticipated – before Hiyori reappeared, right below his guard; her blackened, dead eyes staring straight into his own.

"… You're gonna wind up dead."

Had he not been expecting the exponential spike in Hiyori's reiryoku, that first attack would have had him. As it was, he was already stepping into a shunpo by the time she reached him, flying out of her zanpakutō's range just as it swung through the space he'd occupied less than an instant before. Lifting Zangetsu in a defensive stance, he stared at the still-hunched form of Hiyori, warning bells going off in the back of his mind as the Vizard remained immobile.

A whisper in his ear.

"You're slower than I thought."

He pushed himself away without hesitation, frantically trying to get out of the girl's range, but all in all it was a pretty hopeless gesture. The tip of the Vizard's blade ripped through the fabric of his shihakushō, tearing through the flesh below his ribs with a practiced slice. Grunting at the pain, he swung Zangetsu wildly. Hiyori snorted, lifting her weapon in a casual block before pushing violently, forcing Ichigo back.

He was in trouble; there was no two ways about it. He could try and run; no matter what Hiyori said, he doubted she would be able to catch him over any short distances. The only problem would be how far she was willing to follow him to draw out his Hollow. If she stopped on the borders of the wharves, then all well and good. But he wouldn't be at all surprised if she followed him into the heart of Karakura in this state. And, peeved as he was to admit it, she was right. The lives of the city's citizens were not something he was willing to gamble with.

He would just have to think of something else to get the diminutive Vizard off his back.

Growling, he spun just in time to block a long slash from the side, his blade jarring with the force of the blow. Through the narrow slits in the mask, he could see her eyes, dark with the hateful loathing of the Hollow within her. But he could also see the restraint; the disciplined control that this girl held over the demon that resided in her mind.

"What's the matter?" she echoed hollowly, "If you're scared, ya can just pull out your Hollow. It ain't like _he'd_ be afraid of me or anything."

"Shut-up!" Ichigo roared, diving toward her.

Hiyori snarled as she raised her zanpakutō once more, "You just don't get it."

Ichigo barely even saw her move; she was a mere flicker of motion. One moment she was less than an inch from Zangetsu's tip, the next she was flying by him, her flash-step-that-was-not-a-shunpo carrying her out of range in the blink of an eye. And, without a moment's indecision, she swung at the boy's undefended shoulder. Reflex saved him, his hips pivoting as he ducked under her slice.

But with her increased speed, he didn't entirely escape injury.

A thin gush of blood erupted from a gash on his brow, quickly clotting in his fringe, tiny rivulets of scarlet running down his face. The pain was intense, but he'd had worse; Kuchiki Byakuya's Senbonzakura Kageyoshi was a million times worse than any little cut Hiyori could possibly give him in a mere spar.

Though, if she really did intend to injure him, he had no doubt that she could.

As if to prove the point, Hiyori appeared behind him once again, her zanpakutō stabbing inward. But she was an instant slower, her speed reduced by the tiniest margin. With a triumphant grin, he swung downward, Zangetsu's hilt rushing toward her unprotected head. And in that instant, that single moment where Zangetsu would have connected, Hiyori looked directly into his eyes … and smirked.

And with that, she was gone.

Ichigo never saw it coming.

He couldn't restrain the pained groan as cold steel ripped through the muscles in the back of his right leg. Blood spurted out in a crimson fountain, Hiyori's gleaming blade slick with the scarlet substance as she alighted on the floor opposite him. Ichigo staggered, leaning heavily on Zangetsu as waves of agony tore through him. Everything below his knee was on fire; he hadn't been in this much pain since his hack-fest with Kenpachi in Sereitei.

Grinding his teeth, he pushed against the ferocious pain, focusing all his energy into blocking off the throbbing in his leg. And in doing so, his concentration wavered.

Shrieking in triumph, _he_ pounced.

Any thought of the burning mass that was his leg vanished as he felt the dark cloak of his inner demon closing over his mind. Fear coiled in his belly as he felt the Hollow's icy influence smothering him. He wouldn't let it win; he couldn't let it win. Gathering as much force as he could, he pressed fiercely against the fleeting shadow that was his enemy. But unlike before, where he had thrown it off within seconds, the Hollow pressed back.

The snake hissed.

It wasn't like when he had fought it on Zangetsu's dimensional-plane-thing. This Hollow had no place or profile, no form to speak of. Of course, neither did Ichigo, so it wasn't like they were on unequal footing. But in spite of the demon's shapelessness, the two wills battled for supremacy just as fiercely as if they each had the strength and spirit of thousands.

At first, it seemed as if the Hollow were winning. It lashed at the Kurosaki with every bit of the inherent ferocity that was characteristic of its kind, its inhuman intensity putting Ichigo on the back foot from the very start. But, as time wore on, it became increasingly apparent that the Hollow's fervor was fading. Seeing the chance, the Shinigami pressed harder, the fear vanishing as he funneled all of his rage, all of his power into his struggle with the Hollow.

A chip in its defence.

He pressed ever harder.

And, like a raindrop shattering silence, _he_ broke.

An enraged howl was all that met his victory – weak though it was – as the Hollow fled once more to the darkened recesses of his soul. As if hurled in some crazy god's game, Ichigo slammed back into himself with jarring force. Panting heavily, he took stock of his condition, careful not to weaken the barriers on the fringes of his soul. His wound was still throbbing painfully, and his vision was partially obscured due to the blood from his scalp wound, but he was himself. He had won.

For now.

Using Zangetsu as a prop, he carefully pushed himself to his feet, slowly raising his eyes to the red-clad figure before him. Though it hardly quelled the immense fury that was searing away at his insides, he couldn't help the relief that welled up in him when he saw that Hiyori had tilted the mask to the side of her head. Her empty, soulless eyes were gone, replaced by the dirty brown ones that held nothing but contempt.

But between the mental exhaustion that came with his hollow victory, and the throbbing pain that was rising out of his barely usable leg, he couldn't really bring himself to react. Even if his normal response to a look like _that_ was an equally pissed scowl.

"Guess you're still fighting it," she growled, glaring daggers at him, "Y'know, you're a bigger pain-in-the-ass than even Shinji over there, and that's saying something."

Taking a deep breath, Ichigo glared fiercely at her. If she kept this up, he wouldn't be able to stay calm for long. And in this fight, one brash action would be the end of him.

"Here's a clue," she said, "Go Bankai. If ya don't, you're just begging to get your ass handed to ya."

"Shut-up kid," he panted, feeling a somewhat juvenile satisfaction at Hiyori's scowl, "Beating up little girls ain't my style anyhow."

The Vizard's smirk was feral, "Well that's just fine, 'cause _this_ little girl's gonna be the one to kick your ass."

To Ichigo's surprise – and though he'd never admit it, relief – she slowly sheathed her zanpakutō, her implacable scowl returning, "Y'know Ichigo, it's your type that pisses me off the most. Y'think you're so high 'n mighty, just 'cause you think you can block off that Hollow living inside ya. Well I got news for you Kurosaki; you ain't so high." By this point, Ichigo was snarling with every bit as much fervor as the diminutive Vizard, "In fact, you're lower than dirt. I bet you can't even look your Hollow square in the eye without shaking."

She spat in the dirt between them.

"Ya make me sick just looking at you. Far as I'm concerned, there's no point in trying to recruit you at all."

It took all his self-control to keep his temper in check. Only the blunt probe of the Hollow pressing against the borders of his consciousness prevented him from rushing forward and throttling the diminutive girl.

"To hell with it," she muttered, placing a hand on the mask, "There's no point messing with ya anymore. If you ain't gonna take this crap seriously, I guess I'm just gonna have to bury you." She glanced over her shoulder at Hachigen, "You might wanna reinforce the barrier. 'Bout three layers should do it."

With a vicious tearing motion, she pulled the horned mask back across her face, her eyes instantly flashing from their regular white to the empty black of her Hollow. A tremor wracked his body as he slowly raised Zangetsu, using his good leg as his main support, treading only gingerly with the other, aching limb. His eyes traced his opponent carefully, desperately attempting to glean any clue he could from the girl alone; any hint as to how he could suppress his inner demon.

Unfortunately for him, there was – infuriatingly – absolutely nothing about the girl which even hinted at the key to her control.

He waited for her to draw her zanpakutō. After that reckless attack on Shinji, it was pretty obvious that brute force got him about as far as kicking toadstools. If she took the initiative again though, he'd be prepared.

But, to his surprise, her hand strayed away from the hilt of her blade, lifting until she was pointing directly at him. Somewhere to the side, one of the other Vizard gasped – it sounded like Mashiro, again – while Hachigen's polite voice cut through the tense atmosphere of the dockside warehouse, "I don't think this is necessary, Hiyori."

She didn't take her eyes off Ichigo, "I don't care what ya think, big guy. One way or another, this guy's gotta learn that the road ain't always lined with roses. And if I have to put him six feet under to do it," to the Kurosaki's horror, a glowing pink ball appeared at the tip of the finger pointed his way, the technique easily recognizable to the practiced Shinigami, "then that's the way it's gonna be."

"Idiot," he whispered, "You think the Gotei Thirteen won't notice a Menos-level reiatsu in Karakura?"

The tiny ball grew. Hiyori sneered – or at least, it looked like a sneer behind the bone-white mask, "Heh, with Hachigen's Kidō block, this'll barely be a smudge on their radars."

Snarling, Ichigo felt the sweat beading under his fringe as the spiritual pressure in the room exploded. The swirling reiatsu condensed around the Vizard's fingertip, rapidly turning as the power increased. He knew that he'd never be able to get out of range, not with anything of that level aimed at him. And with only his Shikai activated, he'd never be able to take it head on, especially not now. His only chance was Bankai.

But that was a danger in itself.

A danger he'd been trying to avoid since the start of this half-assed death match.

"Doesn't the hero get a final request?" he said, wincing as his leg throbbed.

Hiyori hesitated for the slightest instant, before slowly raising her finger, "Idiot, there are no heroes anymore." Strangely, if they were capable of anything but hollow apathy, Ichigo would have thought her eyes held sorrow. But the loathing and conviction there told him all he needed to know; this was no bluff.

She was going to kill him.

There was no time. Unless he acted now, her attack would tear him apart. There was nothing for it. He could try to take it on in his current state, and face certain destruction from Hiyori, or he could risk activating the Bankai, and face mere probable destruction from the more sinister enemy within. It was an impossible choice; there wasn't any lesser evil.

"Cero!"

"Bankai!"

In the instant before the Cero impacted, Ichigo felt the brief jerking sensation that told him Zangetsu's spirit energy had fused into its advanced state. Better; the Hollow, lunging for control, did little more than scrape at his mental defences. He was in control. The cool steel of Tensa Zangetsu's hilt was a cold reassurance, the strength of his partner renewing his own as he confidently raised the zanpakutō to block the attack, as he once had to block the attack of another Hollow, so long ago it seemed.

Just like before, the raging reiatsu of the Hollow impacted with his own, an echoing boom reverberating the fractured glass of the warehouse's windows.

Unlike before, Zangetsu shattered on impact.

Ichigo didn't have time to feel terror; not a single second to feel fear. All there was, was the sheerest instant, where the most unbearable heat burned through his entire being. Searing pain, blazing through every inch of his soul. And then a cold hand was on his shoulder, a maniacal cackle echoing hollowly in the darkness of his mind as the shadowy entity that was _him_ rushed past; seizing the reigns, at last wresting control from the drained Kurosaki.

And, with the world spinning rapidly out of focus, he drowned in the darkness.

XXXX

In Soul Society, a lone member of the Twelfth Division sighed as a faint dot appeared on the radar marked 'Karakura'. Rubbing his eyes wearily, he reached for the transmitter at the end of his desk.


	3. Caer

**Zero**

**Chapter 2**

**Caer**

Hiyori felt a fleeting instant of satisfaction as the brainless idiot's zanpakutō finally shifted into the form of his Bankai. And about damned time too; even a dipshit like him must've realized that there was no way he could block a Cero without sending that oversized scythe into overdrive. Poor kid had one problem.

He hadn't realized that that little sword stood no chance against a concentrated Cero anyway.

"Guh!"

A spray of blood erupted slightly below his heart as the beam hit. In spite of herself, Hiyori was impressed; not many could take a Cero like that and get away with a grunt. The last Hollow she'd hit with it had screamed loud enough to send the Pluses a few blocks away scrambling. 'Course, Shinji hadn't been too pleased that she'd upset half a neighbourhood, though she didn't really give a damn, which only pissed him off more. But even he'd had to admit that she could sure make a Hollow scream.

Still, what Ichigo lacked in noise reaction, he sure made up for in performance.

His hands shot to the sides of his head – not to the gaping wound in his side, as she noted contentedly – fingers tearing blindly at his unusual orange hair. The dull _clang_ of Zangetsu hitting the ground fell on deaf ears; Ichigo was obviously hearing jack-all, and Hiyori just didn't care. The boy's mouth stretched open in a silent howl, his agony echoed in the inaudible whimpering. But to the diminutive Sarugaki, all of this paled in comparison to the eyes.

As if he knew exactly what was coming, Ichigo's eyes were wide in terror, unseeing of the world around him.

Right before they were consumed by black.

With a gentle _thump_, he fell to his knees, his chin dropping slowly onto his chest.

The change was immediate. The manic tearing stopped, only a slight shaking remaining in its stead. Although she couldn't see his face, she knew he was calming; the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest was slowing from its frantic tempo. And, from where she was standing, it looked like that wild gaping had finally stopped. Matter of fact, it actually looked like he was grinning, in a twisted sorta way. That; that little curve to his lips which practically screamed _Insanity_; that would've been enough proof of a job-well-done.

But, at that exact moment, he glanced up; and she needed no more confirmation.

Those eyes; edges white gone black, irises dark gone white, and – naturally – hollow of their abandoned humanity, their only substance hatred and loathing.

This was what she wanted. Shinji was lucky; he'd been Ichigo's recruiter, so naturally he'd been the only one around when the kid finally lost control of it. Far as he was concerned, his word was good enough for all Vizard. Well not for her; and she doubted too many of the others would put up too much of an argument. And anyways, it was like Risa'd said; they needed to know his Hollow to help him. She'd done the right thing.

She only had an instant to congratulate herself, when _it_ looked straight at her, the first particles of a mask forming on the edges of his fuzzy fringe.

"Bad move, punk."

A shriek of insane laughter rang through the desolate warehouse as it charged, raw instinct raging in its hollow black eyes.

Only the bubbling instinct of her own Hollow saved her.

Her hand shot up, a premature Cero exploding from her palm. The other Hollow was blown backward, a tiny crack appearing in his mask. Grinning wildly, he bounded toward her, his fist swinging viciously. Ignoring the first bubbles of alarm, Hiyori augmented her own strength with that of the Hollow within her, striking back with what she thought to be equal force, her intention to deflect the blow.

To her shock, she didn't even come close.

There was an almost inaudible _crick_ as two of the bones in her knuckles cracked, the untamed strength of the Hollow outweighing her own carefully refined power with ease. Hiyori swore violently as she leapt backwards, out of range of the second brutal strike, a familiar itching sensation scratching across the damaged bones as they knit themselves back together. One of the up-sides to having a homicidal, regenerating monster living within her.

Of course, that didn't mean much when she was taking on a homicidal, regenerating monster.

Watching the shrieking form of Ichigo – he really looked like an idiot, even as a Hollow – she slowly lowered her hand to her zanpakutō, the other charging a Cero. Raising her hand, she shot the concentrated attack at the masked form, ripping her partner from its sheath in the same fluid movement. A grey cloud erupted around from the Hollow's hand as he negated the bright pink Cero, shrouding him, only his crazed black eyes visible.

"You're even more of a dick now, than you were before," she said, black meeting black, "But I gotta end this little game for now, Ichigo. The real match doesn't start 'til the dealer shuffles the deck."

She began to raise her blade threateningly, when she was jarred to a stop by the halting, echoing tones of the Ichigo-Hollow.

"Sorry, kid. But I'm holding all the aces."

Looking back, she still berated herself for her carelessness. One second the Hollow was on the other side of the floor, the next, the bastard was right on top of her, the long black blade that she recognised as Ichigo's Bankai clutched in its hands. Before she could even think about moving, a hand shot out, seizing her by the throat, slamming her violently against the wall. Hiyori spat at it; the Hollow merely grinned wickedly as it raised Zangetsu.

"Getsuga Tenshō!"

Crimson-tinged black reiryoku swirled violently around the sinister weapon, licking at the black metal. Hollow eyes stared remorselessly into her own as the pressure on her neck increased, a long fracture snaking down the length of her horn. Almost against her will, fear speared through her as the Hollow swung, her resolve finally shattering as it moved in for the kill.

_Thunk!_

_Whump!_

There was silence.

XXXX

Drowned in the depths of darkness, Ichigo swore as an insane tugging tore him from the inky recesses of his soul, yanking him back toward the fore of his spiritual body. As he was wrenched what he thought might have been up, he _felt_ a familiar formless entity rush past him, screeching as it was hurled back into the depths of its prison. In spite of himself, he grinned smugly as he realized the Hollow must have sucked just as badly against Hiyori as he had. Or at least, he would have grinned, if he'd had a face.

But … if the Hollow had lost, why was he coming back up?

He didn't have time to ponder this dilemma however, for, with a rough jerk, he landed back in the comforting discomfort of his body.

The first thing he noticed was that he was on the ground; the unpleasant mixture of dust and dirt in his mouth pretty much confirming that the Hollow had been well and truly beaten. The second thing he noticed was that he couldn't move; there were at least four heavy objects making sure that his body remained where it was. And, at last, he realized that the Vizard were no longer lounging around the edges of the warehouse.

In fact, seven of eight zanpakutō were pointed at him threateningly, their intent a little obvious. Glancing around, he caught sight of the lone Vizard which wasn't; Hiyori was slumped against a nearby wall, a shaken expression replacing the normally perpetual glare.

"D'you get it now?"

Temper rising quicker than a flash flood, Ichigo scowled up at Shinji's irritatingly know-all face.

"No matter what you try, there's no way you can hold that thing back on your own. You might not have noticed, but it was pretty obvious that he was kicking your ass all the way through your little match with Hiyori." With a casual flick, he sheathed his sword, "But don't worry 'bout it; thanks to your really stupid plan, we know what we're up against."

"Would you shut-up!" Ichigo roared, pushing the others off roughly as he climbed to his feet; or attempted to anyway, "You're treating this like a big game; the stakes are high, but it seems to me you don't care whether or not you win or lose. D'you even think that I might not have been able to come back? That this might be the one time where he got control, and stayed in control?"

Shinji grinned at him, "Yes. And frankly, we were quite prepared to kill you if the Hollow didn't back down."

In spite of his fury at the Vizard's statement, Ichigo couldn't say he was surprised; Urahara had told him the same thing, way back when he first learned Zangetsu's name. Then the rest of what he had said sank in, and it hit him.

"He … backed down?"

The Hirako sighed, "Geez, you've got even less smarts than I would have thought possible for a kid your age. There was no way that we could beat him just by cracking the mask; his will to fight disappeared the moment he realized he was overmatched." He paused, obviously realizing that there was no way that a Hollow would give up the will to fight, "Well, he knew that he stood no chance against eight people at least as strong as himself anyway. Apparently he's not so crazy as to charge blindly toward destruction. Which is good news for you, I guess, depending on how you look at it."

"Not for us," Love groaned, "It's gonna be a real pain fighting something that actually knows its limits."

"Fighting?" Ichigo asked, and even he couldn't hide the hint of alarm.

Shinji tossed Love an irritated look, before waving nonchalantly, "Pfft, trust me; the only one you're gonna have to worry about is you. We can handle ourselves; Love's just a bit of a whiner."

Ignoring the indignant _chuff_ from the taller Vizard, Shinji threw an arm around Ichigo's shoulders, his wide grin replacing any suspicion in Ichigo's mind with the eternal annoyance that the Kurosaki now associated with the Hirako, "But for now, it's time for the real training to begin. We're gonna pound that Hollow into the very core of your soul." He gestured sharply to Hiyori, "Bring it out."

Seeming to regain some of her natural attitude, she shot a dark look at Shinji, "Since when am I _your_ slave, baldy?"

Shinji waved dismissively, "Not now. Just go get the damn thing."

As the Sarugaki's grumbling slowly faded, Ichigo tensed as the realization set in that this was it; he was finally going to be rid of the constant presence in the back of his mind; the constant fear of possession. Abstractly, he wondered just what exactly 'the damn thing' was. Would it be a stone, similar to the Hōgyoku; a substance which completely dissolved the barrier between Shinigami and Hollow, merging them as one? Or would it be some brilliant machine of the Vizard's own working; an amazing and alien device far beyond the scope of his anything he'd ever seen before?

A heavy _clunking_ pulled him from his reverie. Staring at the door Hiyori had disappeared through, he felt his jaw drop as the girl slowly emerged, a large … _something_ in tow.

Hiyori grinned proudly as she set it down in front of him, "This is one of the best things I've created since we got … well, in a long time anyhow."

Ichigo just stared, dumbfounded. Shinji slapped his back heartily, "May I present; the Shitty Hiyori Walker!"

_Thwack!_

Ichigo felt himself stumble slightly as the weight of Shinji's arm was pushed off him by an inordinately accurate thrown sandal. But he couldn't get his eyes off the device in front of him.

"I told ya, baldy, it's the _Super_ Hiyori Walker."

Finally mastering his voice, he was still barely above an outraged squeak as he spoke.

"This … _this_ is what you're gonna use to suppress the Hollow?"

Hiyori turned, a dangerous scowl on her face, "Yeah, what of it?"

Speech leaving him again, the Kurosaki gestured wordlessly at the beat-up treadmill. Hiyori glanced at the Walker, frowned, then strode up to Ichigo and poked him fiercely, her glare equally harsh, "Now look here, idiot. That there's state-of-the-art technology; as good as the stuff they make over in Seireitei."

His frustration rising like a wave, he glared at her, "Are you kidding? Their research department craps out stuff better than this; how the hell is this s'posed to help me suppress my Hollow?"

"You'll never know until you try," Shinji grinned from the side, casually elbowing a murderous Sarugaki out of the way, "Not like you've got anything to lose."

Ichigo looked from the grinning Shinji, to the scowling Hiyori, to the rest of the gathered Vizard, finally landing on the battered form of the Super Hiyori Walker.

"But it's a frickin' _treadmill_!"

XXXX

Inoue Orihime sighed as a bleak line of clouds advanced across the sky far above, a rumbling mass of black and grey splotches which blotted out the sky. There would be a storm today; noon at the latest. They seemed to be more common lately, the heavy thunderheads a familiar constant since the start of semester. If she were the superstitious sort, she would have considered it a bad omen.

But, as she constantly reminded herself, she had to remain cheerful.

Especially now, when no one else seemed to be.

Humming softly, she probed absently for Ichigo's reiatsu. He hadn't been at school for two days, and if she hadn't seen him after his battle with the Arrancar, she might have been worried. Since their little … _expedition_ into the Soul Society, he was getting injured far more than any fifteen year old should possibly have a right to be, and she couldn't help but be a little anxious whenever his presence faded. Still, she could feel him yet; he couldn't be in too much trouble.

Knowing Ichigo, he was probably off training somewhere. Like she should be …

"Orihime!"

She turned, "Rangiku-san?"

The tall Lieutenant raised an eyebrow, hefting a long coil of wire over her shoulder, "School out already? I thought those jailers kept you in 'til four. Skipping out, are we?"

Orihime started, then smiled ruefully, "I didn't think you knew our timetable so well."

"Pfft, please. I've spent the last week counting down to that blessed hour every day; those teachers couldn't possibly make those classes any more boring if they tried," she snorted, "Besides, with Stringent-taichō on my case all the time, I have to plan out every minute of the day in advance."

Glancing around, the younger girl was surprised to see that the diminutive Toshirō was nowhere in sight, "Where is Hitsugaya-taichō?

Matsumoto grimaced, "Well when I left, he was still tearing apart your living room. He asked me to pick up these," she shifted the wires pointedly, "from Urahara-san's store." She must have sensed Orihime's alarm, as she chortled, "Don't worry; I don't think he's done anything that can't be fixed. In any case, the Captain's way too strict to leave it a mess; he'd have my head if we left behind a speck of dust, let alone destroyed your house."

"O-Of course," Orihime said, hiding her anxiety behind a weak smile. Matsumoto obviously saw through it, however, as she sighed.

"Come on then; I'll show you."

It was with no small trepidation that Inoue Orihime approached her own front door, Matsumoto grumbling about her wires a few feet behind her. The Shinigami weren't exactly a group that inspired confidence in her. For one, they'd very nearly executed one of their own people, who had actually turned out to be innocent. Worse; they didn't even notice that something was wrong when their own government had been slaughtered, and that it had been one of their own Captains who did it. A traitor who it seemed had been planning out his betrayal for a number of centuries.

Suffice to say, Inoue was not sure she wanted to see the inside of her house anymore. Maybe she'd be able to stay with Tatsuki for awhile …

"Are you gonna go inside or not?" The Tenth Division Lieutenant grinned at the girl's stricken expression, "Well, either way, move out of the door; I've gotta get this junk inside before shorty blows his top."

As if on queue, an irritated voice floated out the window, "I'd really appreciate it if I could get that cable now." A pause, "Anytime within the next human lifetime would be good though."

Scowling theatrically, the Shinigami barged past Inoue through the door, leaving Orihime alone on the doorstep.

"On my way, Toshirō-san!"

"That's Hitsugaya-taichō to you, _Lieutenant_."

Steeling herself against her reservations, the girl followed the buxom Rangiku in. Admittedly, it wasn't as bad as she thought. The furniture had been neatly stacked along the walls, the chairs and cushions arranged with the tidy efficiency that was characteristic of the Tenth Captain. Sora's shrine was largely untouched, though it was neatly tucked to the side, so it was never really in danger of being moved anyway. There was no sign of the 'tearing' which Matsumoto had so emphatically described, much to her relief.

Looking carefully, there wasn't much difference at all really, apart from the monstrous thing which now occupied her wall.

Then again …

"Uhm, Hitsugaya-taichō, I-"

She was cut off by a short huff as the diminutive Captain snatched the cords from his Lieutenant's waiting hands.

"What took you so long? Did you stop in for a drink with the locals?"

"Cram it," Matumoto muttered as she collapsed against the wall, "These things weigh a tonne, it took forever to drag them across town. Why not send Ikkaku or Renji to go pick up the goods?"

"They are not under my command," Hitsugaya murmured, leaning in behind the large, twisted frame, "You, fortunately or not, are."

Rangiku scowled in the direction of the muffled voice, "For this mission they are."

"Well," he grumbled, a heavy clunking echoing his work, "I doubt that Kuchiki-taichō and Zaraki-taichō would appreciate it if I used their own men as manual labor, especially when I have someone from my own division who can do it just as well as any of them."

Orihime coughed, a little louder than strictly necessary. The bickering stopped instantly, Matsumoto still looking a little annoyed, while Hitsugaya paused his shuffling and bumping behind the large thing just long enough to poke his head out and say, "Ah, you're home Inoue-san," before ducking back behind the big screen-like frame with a muttered assurance that he would put things back to rights when he was finished.

Her curiosity piqued, Inoue wandered closer to the device. As she'd seen when she first entered, its general shape was a large frame. A twisted, jet black substance comprised its main form, while winding silver capillaries criss-crossed and intertwined along the edges. Columns of decidedly odd green smoke spewed out of warped vents, leaving a foul odor wafting around the low ceiling. Long cables trailed like serpents across the floor, their ends vanishing behind the wall of static contained within the black frame. But perhaps most disturbing were the various carvings that adorned it; human legs providing the main supports, while twisted, howling demons lined every other face and edge. It was one of the strangest things she had ever seen, and, even though she was just sixteen, she had seen some strange things.

"Uhm, what is it?"

Hitsugaya didn't respond, leaving it to a clearly disgruntled Matsumoto to explain, "Over at the Institute, they call it an Inter-Dimensional Link; but that's really just a scientist's name for what you might call a two-way mirror." She paused, "A two-way mirror that crosses the barrier of life and death anyway. It's a little something those nutjobs over in Twelfth Division cooked up for Shinigami who were sent on long-range recon missions, or jobs that involved scouting out a particularly dangerous Hollow; Menos or higher, in most cases. It was _meant_ to give the agents a constant link with Seireitei; I'm sure you can understand why the higher-ups would want the chance to be in constant contact with any Shinigami regarding Menos these days."

Orihime nodded; with Aizen in league with the monstrous Hollows, Soul Society would be desperate to get hold of anything concerning their movements. But she was sharp enough not to miss the emphasis the Lieutenant had placed on …

"Meant?"

"They couldn't downsize," a short grunt as Toshirō emerged from behind the massive screen, "This was as small as they could get the damned thing without spending way more than they could afford. It took nearly half their yearly budget to get it down to this size in the first place."

"In other words," Matsumoto continued, "It was impractical, nearly useless for any sort of mission; any except this anyway. All it's good for now is saving us finding a jigokuchō, and a trip home to report."

Her confusion must have shown on her face, as Hitsugaya shrugged, "Don't worry, you'll see soon enough."

Turning his back on her, he moved to the front of the large screen, "This is Hitsugaya Toshirō-taichō; I want to open a direct link with the First Division headquarters."

There was a moment of silence, then a voice, crackling like a static phone line, echoed hollowly through Orihime's house, "Request confirmed. Opening dimensional link; standby for First Division."

There was a moment's pause and then a small room faded into vision on the screen. Short torches burned brightly in brackets on the wall, moths fluttering near to the warmth. But Orihime didn't even see them; her attention was fixed solely on the lone figure standing in the room's centre, a man whose very presence could bring an entire army to their knees.

"Yamamoto-sōtaichō?"

XXXX

Grimmjow grunted as a group of Arrancar rushed down the hall behind him, their eyes carefully downcast as they passed the former Espada. He was in a bad mood. They were nearby. It didn't take a mathematic genius to deduce the possible result of anyone staying close to him for any longer than two seconds; three if he was practicing any sort of restraint.

Which he rarely was.

They were lucky; they were gone by the count of one.

Grimmjow felt his mood drop several bars.

It really wasn't right to say he was in a _bad_ mood anymore. He'd been in a bad mood when Aizen returned from Soul Society and started turning every Hollow from near and far into Arrancar. He'd been in a bad mood when Las Noches had started to fill up with the sort of trash that he'd have expected to see if he ever took a trip to Seireitei. He'd been in a bad mood when his entire band of Fracción had been destroyed on a simple search-and-destroy mission to Karakura. And now he had no arm, and had been demoted in favour of that idiot, Luppi.

Now, he was ready to destroy something; the more annoying the better.

"Good evening, Jaegerjaquez."

And Szayel Aporro Granz fit that criteria perfectly.

Spinning around, he saw the Octava leaning casually against a nearby pillar, that annoyingly smug smile stretched across his face. Grimmjow had a sudden urge to break those _perfect_ lines of teeth. Szayel had always been a piece of trash in the former Sexta's eyes. All of the Espada knew that it was only his brains that kept him in Aizen's favour; that kept any of the others from tearing him apart. Unfortunately for them, so did Szayel, and he enjoyed nothing more than flaunting it in the rest of their faces.

Though, in his current state, Grimmjow was tempted to risk Aizen's wrath and just kill the bastard anyway.

"Pity about your arm."

Sorely tempted.

Instead, he shrugged with attempted nonchalance, a wicked gleam in his eye, "Pity about your brother; asshole went and got himself killed. No surprises there I s'pose; being a weak shit seems to run in the family."

He was a bit disappointed, but not really surprised, when Szayel just sneered, no hint of sorrow at his brother's loss, "Don't compare me with that useless fool. I'm ashamed to say that we ever shared a name. He was nothing when compared to my genius." His smirk widened, "Although, it doesn't say much for your own abilities, Privaron, that you went and got all five of your Fracción killed on some bloodthirsty task of your own mindless choosing."

The sonído flew Grimmjow across the hall before the Octava could blink. Seizing him by the throat, the onetime Espada snarled, "Care to say that again?"

"Temper, temper," Szayel murmured, staring levelly into Grimmjow's intense stare, "In case you've forgotten, _Privaron_, you're not an Espada anymore. If I chose to, I could take you right now, and none of the other Espada would put up any resistance at all. I'm sure the last Sexta would be a very interesting specimen. After all, you were one of the first Arrancar, were you not?"

Grimmjow tightened his grip, his fingers digging into the Arrancar's flesh, "I dare you to try it."

Szayel shook his head, his malice lacing his tone, "You are fortunate; the task Aizen-sama has given you has ensured that you'll never return to Las Noches. I must say, I'm rather disappointed. You would have made an excellent research subject."

Grimmjow shoved him back against the wall, every fibre of his being screaming at him to destroy the insect before him, "Y'think I'm gonna die on this job?" he snorted, spitting at Szayel's feet, "If that's what you're hoping for, then you've got another thing coming. Not only am I gonna finish this assignment, easy as pie, but when I get back," he grinned wildly, "I'm gonna tear you to shreds."

Szayel coughed, as if in amusement, "You think so? I rather doubt any Privaron could stand a chance against a real _Espada_. You'd best go play slave to Luppi, before I lose my patience with you."

That did it. With an enraged howl, a bright Cero blinked into Grimmjow's lone palm. Szayel raised an eyebrow, slowly placing a gloved hand on the hilt of zanpakutō. Swirling blue reiatsu erupted from the Jaegerjaquez, clashing with the twisting pink of the Octava Espada, the pressure in the room strong enough to force even a Fracción to his knees.

"It appear that I may have to apologise to Aizen-sama," Szayel said calmly, drawing his blade slowly.

"Don't look down on me!" roared Grimmjow, flinging his arm toward the Eighth, "_Cero_!"

Szayel smiled mockingly, lifting his blade high, "_Susure, Fornic_-"

A deafening explosion rocked the hall, the reiatsu blasting outward creating fissures all along the surrounding pillars. The most obvious damage was to the walls; an eighteen foot hole looked out onto the grounds of Las Noches where Grimmjow's Cero had torn apart the rock-work. And at the centre of the destruction, stood three solitary figures.

Grimmjow, arm still outstretched, looking really pissed off.

Szayel, his body paused in the first stage of summoning his Resurrección, appearing mildly irritated.

And, finally, Ulquiorra Cifer, one hand wrapped around Grimmjow's wrist, and the other locked onto the hilt of Szayel's undrawn zanpakutō.

"This is foolish," the Cuarta murmured, his voice, as expected, dead, "Grimmjow, you have more to lose than just your arm if you violate Aizen-sama's rules any further. Until your mission is over, you are not to pick any further fights with any more Arrancar." He turned his emotionless eyes on Szayel, "For now, Grimmjow has Aizen-sama's protection; you are not to try this again."

The Octava's annoyance only showed for the briefest moment, before it was quickly hidden with false confusion, "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

His only reply was a cold stare.

Grimmjow tugged his arm from Ulquiorra's grip, furious at the interruption, "What do you think you're doing? This is none of your business, Ulquiorra. Why don't you butt out and let us finish up here? I'll get to you in a couple of minutes."

Icy green eyes turned.

"You're leaving in twelve hours," the Espada said, ignoring the Privaron's remark, "You had best be prepared. You shall be led by an Espada on this mission, as requested by Aizen-sama." He stared coolly, "I hope the wishes of Aizen-sama have been made clear; I'm sure you wouldn't like to be punished any more than you already have been. And there is no greater crime in Las Noches than failure to fulfill Aizen-sama's demands."

That – the unacceptability of failure – that was something Grimmjow could understand. Nodding shortly, he turned slightly to leave, before he was stopped by Szayel's voice.

"As a matter of interest, who is leading this mission?"

A pause, and then …

"Luppi, Sexta Espada."

Grimmjow heard his own breath hiss between his teeth, a vein pulsing with rage at the Fourth Espada's admission. Glancing up, it took all of his self-restraint not to release Pantera there and then as he saw the smug satisfaction playing across the Octava's face. The four-eyed-freak was practically begging him to do it, to strike out and hit him.

And incur the divine punishment of one Aizen Sōsuke.

With what may have been the most restraint he would ever practice in his existence, Grimmjow turned and slowly walked away from the now higher-ranked Espada, the twisted Szayel smiling spitefully at his back. Grimmjow would get him back; he'd just have to wait until Ulquiorra wasn't around to play the policeman. For now he had other fish to fry; specifically, a fish with bleached hair. The first Shinigami to put a mark on him.

And as he wandered the corridors, Grimmjow smiled.

The Arrancar walking by never stood a chance.

XXXX

Urahara Kisuke sighed; watching wistfully as a shooting star sped across the night sky. Ichigo had gone to the Vizard for help, just as he had expected him to. Well, he hadn't had any real choice, not after what he'd done. But it was still reassuring to know that the boy's pride hadn't grown so far as to completely blind him.

"You're up late."

He smiled softly, not turning, "I was thinking."

A snort, "You should really let someone else take care of that every now and then."

"Ah, but none can do it quite as well as I can."

"Bah! Sometimes I think you really are hopeless," Yoruichi muttered, settling against the doorpost opposite him with a stretch, "You're not the only brain they've got you know. I hear those guys over in Twelfth are pretty sharp." She scowled, "Though that Mayuri should have been put back into the Maggot's Nest an age ago."

Urahara shook his head, "No matter what his … ethics are, Kurotsuchi is a genius. Better to have him on our side than not. We'd be a lot worse off without his intellect assisting Seireitei."

Yoruichi pounced, "So they don't need you all the time."

Urahara raised an eyebrow, "Mayuri is brilliant," he said softly, a slight smile playing with his lips, "But, I am better."

The onetime Second Division Captain sighed, knowing there was no point arguing with him. He could be very stubborn when it came to his responsibilities, and apparently thinking came in under that heading. She always thought it was strange how he always seemed to think a lot more than he acted. And she knew that he did a _lot_ of thinking, whether he acted or not.

"When d'you think they'll arrive?" she asked suddenly.

He frowned, face creased in thought, "I can't be sure. Sometime within the next week would be my best guess. Though, what with yesterday's attack, I doubt that they'd be too willing to act anytime soon."

"What makes you so sure?" she asked curiously.

He paused, and then smiled.

"It's what I would do."


	4. La Soledad es mi Demonio

**Zero**

**Chapter 3**

**La Soledad es mi Demonio**

Kon was not the average gikongan.

Apart from the monstrously-enhanced strength of his legs – the end result of the Research Institute's extensive experimentation – he had been fortunate enough be one of the few Mod Souls that had escaped the widespread termination which followed the end of Operation Spearhead. Better; his good luck had landed him in the company of someone whose sole goal was not to end his life … even if the person in question was a bit of a pain-in-the-ass at times. But, if there was one thing that his escape from extinction had taught him well, it was fear.

And, right now, he could feel it, brewing in the very depths of his soul.

Contrary to the near constant complaints he had made to Ichigo about the uncounted ways in which he'd been neglected since entering the Ponkichi doll, there weren't many things in Karakura which Kon was truly afraid of. True, he became frantic whenever he came close to being discovered, and he detested the youngest Kurosaki's tiresome ministrations, but they weren't things that had ever made him really frightened; not when he could run sprint tracks a dozen times as fast as an Olympic champion.

As it was, excepting the cold, constant fear of his recapture by the Seireitei, and the hard, distinct dread which followed Rukia's retrieval by the two Shinigami, there were only three distinct occasions when Kon could remember feeling real fear.

One of these was the day he had first met Ichigo, upon the moment in which he had come chillingly close to being recaptured, and quite possibly destroyed, by one Urahara Kisuke. Never in his entire existence had he felt as powerless as he had on that day. Nor as terrified.

The second had been much later, when a lone Quincy had challenged a Shinigami to a thoughtless contest to see whose power was greater, bringing a Menos Grande into the heart of the Mod Soul's home, and putting the lives of all Kon's dearest people at risk in the process. For, no matter what he may have said, or done, that was what they were. They were the ones who had saved him from extinction, and the terror he had felt, knowing that he might have lost them, had wracked every fibre of his being.

The third incident had been far more recent, being only a matter of weeks ago. A single Arrancar, thirsty for the true soul of the body which Kon inhabited, had pursued him through the upper districts of the city, and even his superior lower-pod power had been unable to fend off the might of the Grand Fisher. Only a timely intervention by the apparently-Shinigami Kurosaki Isshin had saved him, and, the mystery of Ichigo's father notwithstanding, the whole event had left him shaking for nigh on a week.

Needless to say, it was not often that Kon felt genuine fear. But for the last day or so, his soul had been on edge. But this time, it wasn't due to a Menos attack, or the actions of some overconfident young Quincy at the centre of his worries.

For what seemed to be the first time, in a very long time, Kon was unable to sense Ichigo's reiatsu.

As the sole gikongan which the Deputy Shinigami used when a Hollow invaded the boundaries of Karakura town, Kon had had a long time to become intimately familiar with Ichigo; both with his material body, and his konpaku. Those months together had created something of a bond between the two, something that Kon still had a great deal of difficulty understanding. All he knew was that no matter how far Ichigo ventured, the Mod Soul had always been able to feel him. Even when he had ventured into Soul Society, on his crazed mission to save Rukia, Kon had been able to feel him, albeit as if there were some sort of barrier disrupting the Kurosaki's reiatsu.

But now, there was nothing. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't find the young Kurosaki.

One of his most precious people.

_Drip_.

The droplet rolled down his face gently, slowly soaking into the soft material. Gathering his willpower, he resisted the urge to sniff. As expected, a second drop followed within moments, an incoherent mumble escaping from Kurosaki Yuzu's tear-stained lips as she slept.

Kon felt the fear, fueled by Yuzu's maternal anxiety, grow within him. But now there was something else; a drop of scarlet anger, diffusing in the blackened pool of his dread.

"What kind of brother are you, to make this little girl cry?"

Sighing softly, he slowly raised his legs into a fetal position, pressing his cotton-padded feet against the youngest Kurosaki's limp arm. With agonizing slowness, he gradually increased the force on it. It wasn't as if it were heavy; quite the opposite. If he pushed too hard, he might have accidentally thrown her across the room, and he wasn't quite ready to face the girl when she discovered that her precious _Bostov_ was more than he seemed … or to face either Isshin or Ichigo if he were to cause any harm to Yuzu at all.

Finally worming his way out from under the girl's arm, he leapt nimbly to his feet. Hesitating a moment, he turned, carefully raising the soft cotton sheets around the Kurosaki's exposed shoulders. His breath caught – figuratively speaking – as the girl stirred, but he released it slowly when she merely rolled over, her face turned away from the door.

Not daring to take any more chances, Kon leapt to the door, not feeling any strain on his squat, sewn legs as he jumped the slight distance. Fortunately, due to Yuzu's night terrors, the door was left ajar, and he didn't have to go to the trouble of making several awkward leaps just to turn the handle. It was only as he was sliding through the tiny gap between door and wall that he heard it; a soft whisper, choked as if with tears.

"_Ichigo_ …"

Feeling his resolve bolstered, the Kaizō Konpaku slipped out the door, and into the cool shadows of midnight. It took only a few fleeting steps for him to reach the head of the stairs, not sparing a glance for the door with the familiar _Ichi_-_Go_ nailed to the front. He didn't have anything that would be of real use to him where he was going, as all he could really use while in this body was the impressive strength of his legs. And, so long as the eldest Kurosaki boy was missing, he couldn't switch to another vessel; not without Ichigo's Pass.

He was down the stairs in a single leap, halfway across the darkened dining room in another. He was almost to the door, and the night of Karakura town beyond, when a voice stopped him in his tracks, the calm tones sending a shiver down his spine. Or at least, they would have, if he'd had a spine to speak of.

"You won't find him."

Turning slowly, the animated doll met the eyes of the Kurosaki patriarch. Isshin was sitting at the table, his expression disarmingly composed as he watched the Mod Soul. The shadows of night were splashed across his sharp features, his eyes, bright with his characteristic enthusiasm, shining even in the dark. Had he not been so torn between wanting to find Ichigo, and vexed by his discovery, Kon might have wondered why the man was sitting there in the first place.

Finally regaining some of his composure, Kon scowled, "I've got no idea what you mean."

"Ichigo," Isshin said, his amusement at Kon's miserable attempts at deception evident, "There's no way you're going to be able to find him out there on your own; Karakura isn't _that_ small."

Immediately suspicious of the man's dismissive nature, Kon stared at the Shinigami, "So, you know where he is?"

"Not really," Isshin shrugged, not bothering to point out that the Mod Soul had already given away his false disinterest, "But he's not just some punk kid anymore. He can take care of himself."

"How can you be so calm?" Kon growled, abandoning all pretense of indifference, "He's your son! With what you are, you'd have to know that he fought those Arrancar yesterday." At the man's troubled look, he snarled, "Why didn't you help him? Aren't you family?"

There was a pause, broken only by the quiet _beeping_ of a clock in the kitchen ticking over to one. Finally, Isshin sighed, "There are just some things that he has to do on his own."

Kon stared at him, and then, finding that there were no more words to say, turned to go. To his immense annoyance, the door was locked. Not daring to turn around, he swung back his leg, not caring that Ichigo's father would be the one footing the bill. The plated glass was only saved by the soft _click_ of the lock opening, Isshin opening the door with a look of understanding stretched across his face. Without a word of thanks, Kon leapt deftly from the mat, landing adroitly on the steps below.

He paused on the path for a moment, turning to the much taller Isshin.

"You're a bad father."

And with that he was gone, dashing along the back streets of Karakura, scurrying from hiding place to hiding place as he hurried toward his destination. He would find Ichigo, no matter what the old man said. Come hell or high water, he was going to bring that little girl's older brother back. And he knew exactly where to start.

He was long gone, bounding along the winding alleys and lanes, racing toward the lonely abode of Urahara Kisuke, when Isshin finally slid the glass door to a close behind him, a tired breath escaping the worn Shinigami.

"Yeah … I know that."

XXXX

Yadōmaru Risa snorted softly, quietly turning the page as yet another loud _clatter_ rang out across the warehouse floor, followed almost instantly by the inevitable shouting.

"This is useless; what the hell kind of training is this anyway?"

"What are ya, deaf? It's like Shinji said; you've gotta finish the basics before ya start the advanced course."

The raucous scene that ensued was one that had repeated itself a number of times already over the past day. The boy, Ichigo, obviously aggravated by Hiyori's constant criticisms, would finally reach the relatively small limits of his temper, at which point he would, invariably, hurl the battered Walker at the object of his frustration. And after a brief scuffle, which would eventually be broken up by an irate Shinji, Ichigo would slowly climb back aboard the old treadmill, with a little more than a low grumble, and Hiyori standing nearby, a triumphant smirk plastered across her face.

All in all, the whole process was growing somewhat tiresome, especially for the six Vizard who had no part to play in the spectacle.

"You'd think she'd get tired of all that shouting."

Risa barely spared Love a glance as he dropped to the floor next to her, Rose following a moment later. They were two of the more tolerable Vizard, not giving into the childish whims of the somewhat foolish Shinji and the enthused Mashiro, nor as serious as the somber Hachigen and the over-loud Hiyori. Over the years, their time together, though initially awkward, had eventually settled into something of a comfortable friendship.

"Well," Rose murmured, tuning one of his guitar strings absently, "She hasn't had anyone new to argue with in a hundred years, so I daresay she's making the most of Ichigo's being here."

"Still," Love grumbled, inattentively flicking through the first pages of his new Jump issue, "She could at least have the decency to keep it down to a dull roar; some of us have got better things to do than listen to her and the new guy yell their lungs out."

Risa merely mumbled what she hoped sounded like an agreement, before diving back into her own precious ero-manga. It was no real wonder that the boy was in such a bad mood. If she'd been forced to join a group of near-strangers because of something that she had next-to-no control over, she had no doubt that she'd be just as pissed off.

Rose frowned pensively, "To be honest, I'm not sure how long this Ichigo fellow is going to be around for."

Love raised an eyebrow, "You don't think he'll survive the training?"

"Well, there is that," Rose admitted, wincing as one of his strings broke with a sharp _twang_, "But, I'm not so sure that that will be the real problem. After all, he did achieve his Bankai in just three days, a feat matched by only one other man in the whole history of Soul Society. And, perhaps more amazingly," and here a slight smile touched his lips, "He has already defeated two of the Gotei Thirteen Captains."

Judging from Love's calm reception, it seemed that this was no new news for him. They rarely heard anything beyond what they managed to discover for themselves, and the activities of the Seireitei were always of interest to the ever-wary Vizard, if difficult to get a hold of. But, apart from his earlier spar with Hiyori, this was the first time that Risa had heard more than a brief report on Ichigo's skills and accomplishments.

And, for one such as herself, an unquenchable thirst for knowledge stirred that creature named curiosity into action.

"Which Captains?"

Rose's eyes shifted to her, seeping their distinctive eternal disinterest, "No one you'd know." Seeing her irritated expression, he sighed, "Apparently it was the new heads of the Eleventh and Sixth Division. One of them was an absolute maniac; he got into the Thirteen on strength alone."

"First Captain in nearly two thousand years who doesn't even know the name of his sword," Love muttered wryly.

Risa sniffed; in her books, anyone who was so great a fool as to throw away something as important as their relationship with their closest partner didn't deserve the name Shinigami. And then something else clicked into place, "Sixth Division? That's Kuchiki territory. I don't suppose he could've taken out old Ginrei?"

Although she'd asked, she had high doubts that Ichigo would have actually been capable of overpowering the old man. Ginrei had been a hero; a legend in by anyone's standards. And though his name didn't stretch back as far as either Yamamoto or Unohana, he had been a Captain of renowned strength and presence when Risa had last seen him. Not someone whom a rookie like Ichigo would be able to defeat upon their first use of his Bankai.

So she wasn't really surprised when that same bored smile touched Rose's lips, "Not quite. You may not remember, but Ginrei had a grandson that he sometimes brought to the weekly meetings of the Division heads. Y'know, the one that Shihōin used to play tag with." At Risa's blank look, he just shook his head, "Anyway, that's Byakuya, and he's the current head of the Sixth Division now," He paused, "_And_ the Kuchiki Clan, of course. He's really something of a genius in his own right."

Love whistled, "Well, at any rate, if he can take on a Kuchiki leader and come out on top, this Ichigo's no slouch."

"Undeniably," Rose said, amusement evident, "But, as I was saying, I doubt that it's going to be the training that he's going to have difficulty with." He paused, just long enough to look past the other two at the young Kurosaki, reluctantly pushing forward on the Walker's treads, "No, I imagine what will be hardest for him, will mostly be in the keeping of his promise to remain loyal to the Vizard."

A pause.

"You don't think he'll stick to his word?" Love asked in surprise, "Looking past those rough edges, he seems to be a pretty reliable guy."

"And under any other circumstances I'd be inclined to agree with you," Rose said quickly, "But I'm not so sure that our dear friend Shinji was being entirely open with the boy when he was telling him exactly what joining us entailed. He may have been willing to give up his connections with the Gotei Thirteen to control his Hollow, but I wouldn't hesitate to say that Ichigo might have second thoughts when he finds out that there was more to joining our ranks than simply having to hang with us every other day."

Love's jaw dropped, and even Risa's cool composure snapped under the weight of her surprise, "You mean he doesn't know?"

Rose smiled wanly, "I don't think so. I doubt Shinji would be too eager to let him know what the _Vizard's_ goal truly is, especially with the kid's initial reluctance. I'm guessing he'll wait for a few days at least, long enough for Ichigo to get settled down, before he tells him anything that might affect his decision to stay with us."

Risa frowned as she glanced over at the Kurosaki, his face set in a determined scowl as he ignored yet another pointed jibe from Hiyori. If what Rose said was true, then what he was suggesting – that Ichigo might be gone as soon as the end of the week – was quite possible. While it annoyed her that he might break his promise regardless of their assisting him, it was obvious that Shinji hadn't been entirely truthful with the boy, and if given the choice that he would soon be, the Yadōmaru wasn't entirely sure that she herself wouldn't take the option to leave.

For, no matter what they said, the Vizard weren't so selfish as to let the only other being like them be destroyed by his inner Hollow.

Love sighed, "I guess you're right. Still, I wouldn't be complaining if he stayed, no matter how much he whines." He hesitated, then shrugged … just a little too casually, "It'd be good to have a new face around here."

Rose nodded his slow agreement, while Risa merely lowered herself back into her pages with a slight nod. A few moments passed, a melancholy sort of tension settling over the three Vizard as the words sunk in. It was only when a low chuckle escaped Love, his head buried in the Jump issue, that a sense of normalcy returned to the small group; Rose strumming gently, and the corners of the Shōnen manga rippling every now and then with the laughter of the tall Aikawa.

But to Risa – the one who had been their constant companion for very nearly a hundred years – every mellow tune, every coarse chuckle, echoed with their own hollow despair.

The despair at their eternal loneliness.

And a hundred years was a long time, even by Shinigami standards. The Vizard had been isolated ever since the day that they had crossed over into the human world. They had been unable to approach he who had brought them here, barring the most extreme of circumstances, as any consistent connection would have alerted their enemies to their movements. Even prolonged human contact had been denied them, as their inability to age made them starkly conspicuous amongst the fragile, flickering sparks of humanity.

It went without saying that there was to be no approaching the Shinigami.

It was a cruel irony, but, in spite of what Ichigo might believe, the Hollows within the Vizard weren't the greatest of their demons.

Risa sniffed, peeking over the top of her page at the struggling Kurosaki, and felt that same echoing wistfulness that she heard in Love's dry laugh, in Rose's forlorn tunes. She would be a fool if she denied it. That she felt the very empty feeling which was driven into the heart of all the Vizard, a monster far greater than any Hollow that she had ever fought, inner or otherwise. Perhaps there was something they could do; something that would convince Ichigo that he had a reason to put some of his faith in them, no matter what Shinji did or didn't tell him.

And as she ducked back behind the covers of her manga, Risa knew she'd do anything.

Anything to assuage the hunger of that ravenous beast called loneliness.

XXXX

Ichigo grunted as he pushed forward on the pedals of the old Walker, resolutely ignoring the snickers escaping Hiyori. He had long since tired of the girl's near ceaseless tirades, and, as every moment passed, he could feel the rising flood that was his temper inching toward its inevitable outburst, in what would be his ninth of the day. Or, night, he supposed, glancing at the creeping shadows that cloaked the warehouse's walls, and the moonbeams sneaking through the cracks in the rafters.

_Thwack_.

"Quit gettin' distracted, and get your ass into gear."

He glared sourly at the short Vizard, gingerly rubbing the spot where her sandal had struck him, "Don't you have anything better to do?"

A derisive snort.

"Don't think so highly of yourself, baldy," the Sarugaki scoffed, "Y'think I wanna sit around and watch you get nowhere all day?" At Ichigo's stubborn look, she snorted, "Look, I'm in charge of watching over ya. Just to make sure you don't try and do a runner."

"I don't really see why," Ichigo muttered, pretending not to notice the jab at his own honour, "It's not like I'm going to try and escape before you guys've helped me subdue the Hollow."

Hiyori skulked, "Yeah, well, that's my bad luck for landing a boring guard duty, and _your_ bad luck for landing me as a bored guard. It's really a losing situation for both of us; you get me in a bad temper for nearly a day," she paused, grinning in a malicious challenge, "And I don't get to kick your ass when you try to run."

The Kurosaki's sharp reply was cut off before it was even formed. Waving lazily, Shinji scowled at the diminutive Vizard, "Hiyori, shut-up, you'll be doing us all a favour." Ignoring the murderous glint in the girl's eye, he turned to Ichigo, "And you; get moving. The faster you can finish this three day basic course, the faster we can get onto the main training, and get that Hollow under control."

"That doesn't make any sense," Ichigo muttered under his breath, feeling a tinge of satisfaction edging his resentment as he caught sight of Hiyori, fuming in the corner of his eye.

And, despite his irritation with the Hirako, he gradually increased his pace, feeling the tiny drain on his reiatsu increase by a miniscule amount. Truth be told, using the Walker – boring though it might be – was giving him a peace of mind that he hadn't felt in weeks. Though he'd never admit it to the man, it appeared that Shinji had been correct in his assertions; the Hollow was far more intelligent than its maniacal nature led him to believe. Not once since its submission by the Vizard had it scraped at the edges of his mind, clawing for purchase as it once had.

Instead, it was Ichigo who had eventually found it, lurking in those shadowy recesses on the borders of his soul. Watching.

Waiting.

"What's with that dazed look? Keep your wandering-ass mind on the job, Kurosaki."

A ferocious glower, "Shut-up. How long d'you last on this heap of junk? Ten minutes? Twenty?" He scoffed, "It's not good to tear down your betters, Hiyori. It just makes you look smaller in the end."

The girl flared up at once, throwing caution to the winds as she clutched the grip of her zanpakutō, a wicked smirk upon her lips as she glared at him, "Bet I can make it to ya before Shinji can come down and save you … again."

Ichigo slowed on the Walker's pedals, meeting her stare with an equally pissed off expression, while inwardly calculating the distance between himself and Zangetsu, resting against the far wall, "Well I've beaten you once already," he paused, "I think. Judging from how sick you looked when I woke up, you're not going to want to face _that_ demon again any time soon, will you?"

A flush of rage fuelled scarlet scorched the small Vizard's cheeks at Ichigo's remark, and she had all but ducked into an offensive stance, when a hand gripped her shoulder firmly.

A bad move.

Perhaps she had expected it to be Shinji, endeavoring to interrupt her attempts to exact divine vengeance once more, or perhaps she just needed someone to vent her anger on, regardless of who that someone happened to be. For, with a muttered curse, she swung her still-sheathed blade in a wide arc, spinning back toward the person behind her with a speed that would make a Seireitei Lieutenant's jaw drop.

Thus, she was more than a little surprised when the one behind her, catching the swinging weapon with scant more than a raised eyebrow, was none other than the quiet, bookish Risa.

Hiyori stared at her for what came close to a full minute, before finally slinging her zanpakutō across her back in what was clearly a disappointed gesture. In the whole hundred years of their exile, the Sarugaki had never had an issue with the taller woman, and she wasn't very inclined to begin one over something as simple as an argument with the relatively new Ichigo. However, the interruption was something of an annoyance to the girl, who was itching to get her hands around the boy's neck.

So, it was with strained politeness that she finally said, "What are you doing?"

Risa nodded pointedly at the lone, ancient clock which hung from the walls of the old facility, "Your shift's up; go and take a break. I'll watch over him for the next few hours."

And, to Ichigo's immense surprise, Hiyori gave only a short grumble of discontent, before stumbling off in the direction of Mashiro and Hachigen, without so much as a single dirty glance at the other woman's back. Risa merely shook her head in what might have been the fond manner of an older sister, giving the Sarugaki's back a small smile. Turning back to Ichigo, she bobbed her head in a polite bow, eyes raking over him thoughtfully.

"Yadōmaru Risa; pleased to meet you."

"Kurosaki Ichigo," he grunted, dipping his head cursorily to the bespectacled woman, attempting to conceal his wariness behind the emotionless mask that the Seireitei's greatest warriors so favoured. Where the Vizard were concerned, Shinji and Hiyori were the only ones he knew anything about, and, when it came right down to it, he knew very little about _them_ in the first place. While he might have agreed to join their little group, he wasn't going to put any unwarranted faith in any of them.

Or at least, not yet anyway.

"You might want to relax a bit," Risa said wryly, leaving the new Vizard feeling more than a little chagrined as she cut straight through his cool façade with barely a glance, "Contrary to what you might think, wouldn't drive you into the ground merely for the fun of it."

"Strange, it seems that this is exactly what this training was designed for," Ichigo muttered, not feeling the slightest tinge of guilt at his discourtesy, "'Cause I can't really figure out how this is going to help me overcome him."

"You might not now, but you'll figure it out later," Risa said cryptically, leaning casually against the web-strewn wall, "To be honest, this isn't really essential to the actual submission process," at Ichigo's outraged cry, she raised a hand to stop the flood of almost certainly violent curses before they could come rushing out, "But, it is important for us, who will be supporting you. If you complete this training, we'll be able to see just how much power we're going to need in order to completely suppress it."

The Kurosaki shot a single dark look at Shinji, doodling absently in a scrapbook, before turning back to Risa, "If I can push out more reiatsu, can I get off this stupid thing before the three day limit's up?"

"You know how the Walker works?" she said, feeling a hint of surprise well up within her. She had assumed that with the monumental reiatsu that flowed out of him, he would have been unable to discern the barely noticeable drain on his reiryoku.

Ichigo rolled his eyes, "I might not be a genius like Ishida, but even I could tell that it sucked up a tonne of spiritual energy as soon as I touched it. It's pretty impressive, for a piece of junk," he paused, glancing over at the Sarugaki, engaged in what astoundingly appeared to be an amicable conversation with the ditzy Mashiro, "Erh, but don't tell Hiyori I said that."

"Oh you don't need to fear that from me," Risa chortled, throwing another oddly affectionate glance at Hiyori, "None of us really want her crowing to get any louder than it is already."

Resisting the urge to grin himself, he hurried on, voice gruff as he disguised his true humor, "I just don't get how the hell this is s'posed to help me repress _it_. What good is sucking out all my reiryoku, when I'm probably gonna need as much of it as I can get when we finally come to the actual suppression process?"

In truth, he had an idea, but it wasn't at all a pleasant one. Urahara's shitty encroachment training had been eerily similar, if perhaps a thousand times as dangerous. But, in spite of the fact that the Vizard's tutelage seemed dubiously tame when compared to the trials that he had had to endure when carrying out Urahara's relatively insane procedures, he knew that there was some sort of method to the madness of this undertaking. No matter how much Shinji and Hiyori irritated him, they were anything but idiots; they wouldn't bother putting him on the Walker for three days unless it served some greater purpose.

But that was only the half of it.

The greatest oddity about all this was that, as far as he could see, his work on the reiatsu-gobbling-machine probably had nothing to do with drawing the Hollow out. While Shinji had told him that releasing the Hollow was no longer necessary, now that they had seen it themselves, he knew that their words could only be half-trusted at best; he had no doubt that if they had to pull it from its prison to complete the suppression, they wouldn't give him any warning before doing so. The dilemma that so confused him was that they had no need to wear him down in order to extract it from its cage; Hiyori had proven beyond a shred of doubt that they could just as easily beat him into submission, even with his Bankai activated. It left no plausible reason as to why they felt the need to put him through three days of using a machine which would just leave him exhausted at the end of it.

Unless, of course, the technique through which they would suppress the Hollow was far more sinister than they had initially let on.

If he could look past the impassive expression which yet masked Risa's thoughts, he probably wouldn't be far off the mark.

"You might not get it right now," Risa said finally, meeting his gaze unwaveringly, "But, you'll see why it's so important when we get to the actual containment of the Hollow. Until then, you're just going to have to be patient."

Ichigo groaned inwardly. Patience had never been his strong suit, and, the fleeting disruption to the Hollow's attempts at overthrowing him aside, he was getting tired of the ostensibly useless _Shitty_ Hiyori Walker faster than Ishida could put together a line of women's spring-wear; and _that_ was swift by anyone's standards. As it stood, he wasn't sure that he'd have protested a task as dangerous the extraordinarily hazardous crash course in Bankai that Yoruichi had given him, when weighed against the utter boredom that accompanied his training on the Walker.

Well, maybe it wasn't quite _that_ bad.

A bell _clanged_ abruptly as the clock struck two. The deep, brass tone was familiar, so like that which hung above the mantle in his father's study. An absent thought tugged at him – the unwilling passenger – hauling him along well-known ways as he found himself thinking of home.

Home.

Yuzu would be worrying herself to the grave, of that he was certain. He'd left without word or notice; nothing to indicate where he'd be going, how they could contact him. Guilt welled up in him as he thought of his motherly sister, and the tears that would undoubtedly be shed at his parting, but he steeled himself against it resolutely, a hollow reminder of what could have been lost if he _hadn't_ come to the Vizard roaring through his entire being. Karin, he was sure, would be alright. She was made of sturdier stuff than her twin, and, if he was lucky, some of her confidence would rub off on Yuzu.

His father wasn't even worth worrying about. The old coot took no issue when Ichigo had left on his escapade to save Rukia with next-to-no notice, so he'd probably be cool with it.

As always, his thoughts turned inexorably to his friends. It had been a difficult decision, to not tell any of them what he had resolved to do after his defeat at the Espada's hands, and the … _events_ … which had followed. Of course, Chad and Ishida were nowhere to be found in the aftermath, and Inoue's hands had been full after putting herself in charge of healing the Shinigami occupational force after the Arrancar invasion, but those were weak justifications when it came right down to it.

He hadn't even tried deceiving himself when he thought of Renji and Rukia. As things stood, there was really no excuse at all.

The crux of the matter lay in his fear. He feared the moment when at last he would see them again, and they _truly_ saw him. Maybe they were yet unaware; still blind to the greatest fault of his being. But they _would_ find out eventually, be told of the single moment of his greatest shame. Be told of the one time when he had not been strong enough to protect his friends.

And until he saw them again, he was afraid.

Terrified of what their eyes would hold.

A gentle sigh.

He looked around to see Risa watching him steadily, a hint of what he thought might have been sympathy glinting in the corners of her eyes. Feeling discomfited at once, he attempted to conceal his sorrow, forcing that trademark scowl onto his face. He couldn't afford to show his weakness to these Vizard; he couldn't trust them anymore than he could himself. He half-expected the woman to smirk, to make some cutting remark about his obvious mortification.

But, to his surprise, there was no such spite. Instead, her words, softly spoken, were something far different.

Something far more unexpected.

"A hundred years ago … I was a Lieutenant in the Gotei Thirteen."


	5. Penduleo

**Zero**

**Chapter 4**

**Penduleo**

Madarame Ikkaku frowned as he leapt across the weather-beaten rooftops of the harbour district, feeling more than a little frustrated by the complete lack of activity amongst the wharves of Karakura. He'd been searching the run-down quarter for most of the night, ever since those fools over in Twelfth had sent him what appeared to be a false lead on a Hollow's location. Hitsugaya-taichō had said that they shouldn't expect any more incursions after the Arrancar's attempted invasion, but when the call from Seireitei had come early in the afternoon, he'd jumped at the chance to get out of that Inoue girl's house, commandeered as it was by the Shinigami, with the Captain's reluctant agreement.

He wasn't so sure he'd have taken the damn call if he'd known it would be such a wild goose chase, he thought sourly, coming to a halt on the peak of an old boathouse.

Hefting Hōzukimaru absently, he closed his eyes, inwardly visualizing the numerous ribbons of reiryoku that were scattered across Karakura town. He could see Hitsugaya's clearly, shimmering a blood red, a sharp contrast to the dull whites and greys of the human threads. Even the few scarlet ribbons that signified the reiryoku of the other members of the small Shinigami force didn't compare to it. Many in Soul Society would have been surprised to see a Captain of Hitsugaya's standing loosen his control on his power to such a degree, but Ikkaku knew better. The Tenth Division leader wasn't being lax in any way; far from it. By allowing his immense reiatsu to seep out across Karakura, Hitsugaya was issuing a subtle warning.

A warning to the Arrancar to remain in Hueco Mundo, or suffer the same fate as those fools who had thought to assault Karakura several days ago.

Sifting through the remaining spirit ribbons, he felt some small appreciation at the fact that he _could_ sort through them, now that Ichigo was gone. Only yesterday, trying to sense any Shinigami's reiryoku _but_ Ichigo's had been like looking for stars while you were staring at the sun. Oh, it was still possible to tell Hollows apart from the others, and the sheer number of humans ensured that their pale white ribbons were noticeable, but it was impossible to identify any of the Shinigami with Ichigo's ridiculous reiatsu blocking them out. But now, with his departure, it was as if the burning heart of his vast power had been eclipsed, allowing the more refined reiryoku of the others to shine clearly once more. And though the others had expressed some concern at the total evaporation of Ichigo's presence in Karakura, Ikkaku wasn't really that worried.

He'd fought Ichigo before; the kid could handle himself.

A few moments passed, and he still felt no twinge of reiryoku, no black streak indicating the presence of a Hollow. No matter what level of technology they had, those boys over in Twelfth had really screwed him over this time. He was going to have a few polite words with the Seireitei's resident Director of Communications when they finally crossed back over into Soul Society.

Sheathing his zanpakutō with a disappointed grumble, he turned and dashed back the way he'd come, extremely pissed off that he had nothing to show for all his efforts.

It was only as he dashed across the roof-tops of the old storage district, snorting to himself as he imagined what Yumichika would think if he ever saw the state of the run-down area, that the number of Shinigami in Karakura Town jumped by eight. Eight unfamiliar bright red ribbons, each with a single streak of black down the middle, as if he who had sewn them had tangled the strands. Ikkaku stopped dead in his tracks. An instant later, a far more familiar reiatsu exploded around him, instantly blotting out all the others with its gargantuan power.

And, just as quickly as they had appeared, all nine ribbons vanished. As if they had never been.

In the same moment, Ikkaku was gone from the rooftops.

Twelve seconds later, he was standing where he judged the reiryoku had come from, the crescent moon's sickly light shining down from the heavens.

The ribbons had originated from here, or somewhere very close, if his senses hadn't dulled any. And they usually were. The eight were unknown quantities; certainly not Arrancar, if the scarlet tones of their ribbons were any indication, but strangely enough, not wholly Shinigami, judging from those odd black streaks. Which didn't make any sense, or at least, not to him. That nutter Mayuri might have known what it meant, but at the moment, Ikkaku could have cared less. For those other ribbons were pretty trivial next to the fact that Ichigo had been with them. Ikkaku had no doubt that it was him; only his own Captain had reiatsu which rivaled that of the young Kurosaki's, and as far as he knew, Kenpachi was still in Soul Society.

No, that immense surge was definitely Ichigo's.

But perhaps the strangest thing was that there was nothing here. Just rows upon rows of warehouses and storage sheds, a single, open lot the only exposed space for miles in any direction.

Ikkaku frowned as he turned around, looking out across the river searchingly. It wasn't impossible for a Shinigami to conceal their reiryoku. Indeed, most of the Captains could do it effortlessly, often using it to their advantage in battle. But, just like Zaraki, Ikkaku knew that Ichigo's control over his spiritual energy was nothing short of appalling, falling at below-average on a good day. Even if he'd known the method used to hide his spirit ribbon, there was no way he'd be able to use it. Not within the next millennium anyway.

So, spiritual suppression was out of the equation.

Glancing around, and feeling more than a little foolish, he slowly put his hand on the cross-guard of his zanpakutō, whispering, "_Nobiro_, _Hōzukimaru_!" as the weapon stretched into the more comforting form of his naginata. Gripping the weapon firmly, he took a hesitant step toward the nearest of the warehouses, and then, chiding his own lack of nerve, crossed the short distance to the door in a swift leap, crashing through with Hōzukimaru raised in a defensive pose.

The place was a mess. Muddled stacks of crates, towering in juvenile mockery of those amazing structures at the city's heart, were jumbled along the walls, as if whoever had put them there had not really cared for his duty. Shadows stretched like prying fingers across the floor, the ailing gleam of the moon infiltrating in the few places where the old tin roof had finally fallen in. Chains hung in long coils from the roof; serpents of steel in this jungle of brick and mortar.

But, to Ikkaku's great annoyance – and ever growing discomfiture – the old storage shed was utterly empty, barring the rats that skittered across the floor at his entrance.

Hurrying back to the fore of the empty lot, he slumped heavily onto a bench, sealing his zanpakutō discontentedly. He had not been imagining things. Ichigo, and the others – whoever they were – had definitely been here. He wasn't sure how he'd explain it to Hitsugaya when he reported in, but he'd have to let them know that Ichigo was around. Considering how high the guy's reiatsu levels were, the others should have sensed the exact same thing as him anyway. Still, it wouldn't hurt to report it in to Hitsugaya-taichō when he got back.

His thoughts a million miles away, he watched inattentively as a long line of ants marched through the grass, their perfect formation reminding him warmly of the ranks of Eleventh Division back home. Their long parade carried them in a perfect arc, never treading once on the lone open lot. In fact, it almost looked as if-

_Hollow_! _Hollow_! _Hollow_! _Hollow_!

Startled, Ikkaku whipped the little device out of his pocket, all thoughts of weird insect formations driven from his mind. Another Hollow, and this one only six blocks away. With a frenzied grin, he was gone, resolving to leave Ichigo's mystery until after he'd vented his pent-up energy on whatever dumbass Hollow was unfortunate to cross into Karakura on a day when Madarame Ikkaku was feeling restless. Besides, the kid could handle himself.

He knew; he'd fought him.

Had he been but a little more observant, had he waited just a moment longer, he might have noticed the birds that flocked far above, their flight carrying them around, but never over, the seemingly empty lot. He might have even noticed the leaves, floating softly on the wind's cool breath, vanishing into nothing as they floated onto the concrete plot.

But his back was turned, and he was blinded as much by his own wanton need to expel his tension, as he was by the shifting shadows of the night.

And, somewhere in the distance, a clock _ticked_ over to three.

XXXX

Ichigo felt his brow twitch as he stared at the odd circle of outcasts arrayed around him.

From what followed Risa's revelation, it was pretty clear to the Kurosaki that the rest of the Vizard hadn't been in on the Yadōmaru's little plan. In fact, barring Shinji, who had – surprisingly – taken her frank statement with nothing more than a bafflingly knowing look at the woman, the remaining six had wasted no time in voicing their disapproval. Mashiro had offered an obviously startled reproach, though perhaps Hachigen's reaction had been the more detrimental of the two, his barrier dropping for several long seconds before he managed to recover from his sudden shock and restore it, causing a minor uproar in the process. Even Hiyori had not been able to wholly control her fiery temper, her voice strained with suppressed tension as she questioned the woman's purpose. But it was Kensei and Love that had been the most vocal in their protests, the former's roared obscenities, and the latter's alarmed admonishments both ricocheting off Risa's cool exterior as she stared them down levelly.

It was only when the Yadōmaru's icy composure finally cracked, and the dawn grey of her irises had slowly melted into a piercing gold, several bone white fragments falling into place across her fury-streaked countenance, that Shinji had at last alighted from his perch on a tall pile of discarded wares, breaking up the impending clash with an appropriately sharp order.

"Shut the hell up, the lot of ya!"

Which was how they had ended up here; each Vizard – including the newly instated Ichigo – settled on whatever was available, haphazardly arranged in a rough circle, with six of the nine gathered Shinigami-Hollow hybrids flashing between apprehensive glances at the Kurosaki, and what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-you stares at Risa.

To Ichigo, it felt like the first grade all over again.

"Alright," Shinji began, "So Ichigo knows-"

"Thanks Risa," muttered Kensei.

_Shing_.

"How about you-"

"Risa, put that away," Shinji said, watching sternly as the woman reluctantly sheathed her zanpakutō, before spinning to the instigator, "Kensei, shut yer trap. We don't need you starting up crap like this."

"But she-"

"It's not like we weren't gonna tell him eventually anyway," Shinji growled, giving the irascible man a hard look, "'Sides, he did join us, and it's pretty obvious this training isn't doing much to build his faith in us," Ichigo scowled, annoyed at the Hirako's mockingly perceptive manner, "So, we might as well tell him our story," he paused, "Or, part of it anyhow. Who knows, maybe this'll actually give ya a reason to trust us, eh, Ichigo?"

The Kurosaki merely shook his head, the fierce glower plastered across his face barely masking the anticipation that rushed below the surface. He was finally going to get what he wanted most … well, next-to-most. Answers. Ever since Shinji had first revealed himself, and the existence of the other Vizard with him, the mysterious group had presented nothing but questions to Kurosaki. Where had they come from? How had they obtained their powers? Was it through the same method as that through which he had gained his? Or was it through something a little more sinister? Even since joining them, the only thing he'd been shown was the degree of control they had over their Hollows, and that wasn't really news to him in any case; after all, he wouldn't have bothered joining them in the first place if he didn't think they could help him. But, if he was lucky, this story would fill in some of the blanks, and might even give him some solid foundation upon which he could base his … _relationship_ … with these Vizard.

Of course, it was entirely plausible that they would lie to him. They had nothing to lose, and everything to gain from a story which they thought might sate his curiosity, or otherwise bring him over to their side. And they _did_ want him on their side, of that much he was certain. They wouldn't have gone to all this trouble if it was just for the sake of tugging his chain. If they'd wanted to kill him – and the thought had crossed his mind a number of times – they had already had innumerable opportunities to do so. Even as far back as when Shinji had first entered that classroom, the Vizard leader would have had dozens of openings in which he could have killed the unsuspecting Kurosaki; and that was before he'd so much as taken his seat. No, to Ichigo, their insistence in recruiting him was a steady assurance of their need for him, if also a worrisome reminder of the lengths they would go to in order to attain his compliance. But even so, he wasn't sure that they would resort to falsehoods; Risa hadn't appeared to be lying to him, and he was pretty sure that she would prevent any deception the other Vizard might attempt in weaving their tale. Or, maybe even her coming forward had been a set up …

Maybe he was getting paranoid.

"Still think it's a bad idea," Kensei muttered, breaking the Kurosaki from his reverie.

Shinji, wise and open-minded leader that he was, ignored him, "Alright, I think I'll start off this little tale. After all, I was the one who was there at the beginning."

For the briefest of moments, Ichigo felt a distinct shift in the room's atmosphere. The tension, so heavy since Risa's revelation, was lifted within an instant, almost as if it had been a heavy burden that had been lifted from the shoulders of the dilapidated warehouse's occupants. In its place, was a sort of poised expectancy, as if the Vizard knew that they had crossed a bridge, and that the fires of their own candidness were burning it in their wake.

There was no going back; all that was left was what lay ahead.

"I graduated from the Academy around three hundred years ago," Shinji began.

"And no one could believe their eyes," Hiyori snickered, only to be elbowed in the ribs by a firm Rose.

For Ichigo's part, he wasn't really surprised. The Vizard had had to come from somewhere, and, barring the laughable notion that they had come from that pocket dimension that was home to the Hollows, Soul Society was the only valid option. Even Risa's revelation hadn't been a surprise in what she had said, so much as that she had actually said it.

"The Gotei Thirteen were busy that year," the de facto Vizard leader continued, pretending not to have heard the Sarugaki, "There were an unprecedented number of Hollow attacks in the North and East Rukongai, especially in the more distant districts. I was assigned to the Sixth Division, under Captain Kuchiki Ginrei, as the Third Seat. I was put in charge of some crappy job or other; protect some scientists, or something like that, while they figured out why the heck so many Hollows had decided to try and set up shop in Soul Society."

"We were out there for three damn months. One of the most boring posts I've ever had, I'll tell ya. I reckon that over each two week period, we'd have seen around two low-grade Hollows, and that was if we were lucky. But our big break came at the end, when those smart-nuts decided to start playing with Hollow bait," he grinned, every inch of his face reeking conspiracy, "And somehow managed to summon a Menos Grande to North Rukongai, District Seventy Three."

Ichigo scowled, remembering his own experience with Hollow bait.

Ishida really was an idiot.

Shinji grinned at his fowl expression, mistaking it to be regarding his own story, "Oh don't give me that look. It wasn't my idea to use that stuff. All the big decisions were left to the scientists; we were just meant to be the muscle. 'Sides, it wasn't like we were in the middle of the city; the people in that area had cleared up some fields for us to work in, and, long as we got rid of the Hollows, they didn't bother us any more than we bothered them. It was a working relationship."

"Anyhow, so this huge-ass Menos shows up, and since there are no regular folk around, what does he do? Comes straight for _us_ – a Third Seat, and a bunch of other Shinigami nobodies – camped out in the middle of nowhere. Two out of the three Average Joes I brought with me were killed, but between me and the other guy there, we were able to take out the oversized bastard. A couple of days later, those brilliant dip-shits figured out that it had been some kid with high-ass reiryoku that had been attracting the damn Hollows to the area. We nabbed the kid, shipped him off to the Academy, and were outta there by lunch time."

He paused, a wide grin splitting his face, "But anyway, that little trip – dull though it was – turned out to be my big break. The report I handed in got me a recommendation for Lieutenant, and within a couple of days, I was transferred out to Fifth Division."

"Hold on a sec!" Ichigo said, glaring at the Hirako, "What the hell does a damn promotion have to do with you guys ending up here, like this?"

"If ya shut your mouth, you'll hear it," Shinji growled. The Kurosaki opened his mouth to protest, but, at the Vizard's glare, snapped it shut, resentment bubbling beneath the surface. Apparently satisfied, Shinji went on, "I spent almost seventy years in the position of Lieutenant. During that time, nothing really happened that had anything to do with our creation, just alotta guard duty and spare time. But when my Captain carked it, and I was _advised_ to take his position; that was when things got interesting. After passing the Captaincy exam – which I passed with flying colours, by the way, but that's neither here nor there," a number of the Vizard sniggered at this, much to the Hirako's displeasure, "I was given the opportunity to elect my own Lieutenant."

A sliver of the earlier tension returned at the Vizard leader's hesitation, "I was a pretty perceptive guy back then," Someone snorted derisively, "A great deal sharper than I need to be nowadays anyhow. I'd been watching the progression of one particular Shinigami, and I knew potential when I saw it. I couldn't let that opportunity pass. So I elected him. The very same man who had been with me that day that the Menos Grande attacked Rukon North, Seventy Three." He stopped, a hard glint in his eye, "He remained my second-in-command until the day I was transformed."

Ichigo felt the beast of his curiosity stirring. Much to his annoyance, Shinji didn't continue. The silence stretched on. Just as he was about to ask who Shinji's man had actually been, the older guy sighed, and looked up at Risa, "Your turn, Yadōmaru-san."

Ichigo turned quickly, leaving the mystery of Shinji's Lieutenant until later. Risa gave a formal nod at the Vizard leader, the frank sincerity Ichigo had seen earlier masked once more by cool impassivity. He wasn't really surprised, after all the crap Kensei had given her. But still … he was disappointed to be shut out of the Vizard's true feelings once again.

"Two hundred years ago, I completed my course at the Academy at the top of my grade, in only my fourth year. It was in the middle of the Quincy extermination, and, contrary to what current text books might suggest, the Gotei Thirteen had a great deal more trouble putting the group down than one might think. A great many of Shinigami were being killed; even the hardy people of Eleventh Division weren't having any glowing success in combat against the long range Quincy. Due to this, students were being pushed to greater lengths, to the extent that even those in their second year at the Academy were being allowed to join the war – and it was a war – as long as they could wield a blade without injuring themselves."

"Idiots," Love muttered disgustedly, "We couldn't have lost more people if we'd charged at them unarmed."

"_Hush_!"

Ichigo felt a faint tug within him at the mention of the Quincy wars. He knew Ishida didn't really take too much of an issue with the Shinigami over the extermination of his kind, what with it being ancient history for humans and all, but it still troubled him to think that there were people that he knew who had actually participated in the destruction of his friend's race. He could bear it without much grief, but it _was_ a somewhat unsettling notion.

"I was given the Thirteenth Seat of the Eighth Division, placed under the _grand_ Captain, Kyōraku Shunsui," Risa continued, not looking at all perturbed by the interruption, "You may remember him, from your little … _excursion_, to the Seireitei," at Ichigo's blank look, she gave a little smile, a hint of her earlier openness flickering at the corner of her eyes, "He would have been disappointed to hear that he made such a small impression on you; he isn't usually someone who gets forgotten. Yes, Kyōraku played the fool a lot, but he was a good Captain when it came down to it, and there were few to no casualties on any of the missions he undertook against the Quincy."

The flicker vanished. She gave a long sigh, lowering and wiping an imaginary speck from her blue-rimmed spectacles with the corner of her blouse, "In the summer of the war, a joint Divisional squad was sent to put an end to a particularly aggressive Quincy faction. The group had already defeated the two small squads that Seireitei had sent, and it was decided that a larger force was needed to overcome the Quincy defenses. It didn't go quite as planned." Her voice caught, and she cleared it hurriedly, "Of the ten seated Eighth Division members who participated in the assault, one came back. Within a week, I was moved from Thirteenth Seat, to Fourth."

"Original reports suggested that the Shinigami slaughter had been the result of a severe miscalculation regarding Quincy numbers on the part of the Ninth Division, who were in charge of the mission's reconnaissance-"

"Which was bullshit," muttered Kensei, with – oddly enough – Mashiro nodding in firm agreement.

"-but later investigations by Third revealed that there were five spiritual bodies unaccounted for," Risa continued, acknowledging the two with a tight nod, "You might have heard that when a spirit, such as a Shinigami or Hollow, is killed, their entire being disappears. The disintegration process takes time; even up to two weeks for those with especially high reiryoku levels. But at the site of the battle, the bodies of an advance guard had completely vanished," she paused, giving Ichigo a level look, "At their last reported location, the only things found were their Shihakushō, and a number of bone-like fragments, later discovered to be of the same substance as a Hollow's mask."

Ichigo stiffened, leaning forward slightly. At last, they were getting somewhere.

"An inquiry was launched; led by the Eighth Squad Lieutenant, and myself, the newly appointed Fourth Seat. It barely got off the ground. The only actual action taken was the checking of the wards with Twelfth Division. Even before the founding of that Research Institute of theirs, it was Twelfth that was in charge of monitoring the dimensional borders of Earth and Soul Society, and maintaining the alarms that alerted Shinigami to the presence of Hollows. But it was only when we checked the records that we found an anomaly which utterly destroyed the investigation." She paused, "According to Twelfth Division, no Hollow had broken through to Earth within twelve hundred miles of the battlefield." She sighed, "We requested more time, but were told to let the matter lie."

The words came quickly, "My duties took me to other matters, but the Lieutenant persisted with the inquiry, against a direct order from Kyōraku-taichō. A month later, she was sent on a simple Hollow extermination mission." Her voice emptied of all emotion, "She never came back."

Ichigo frowned; though the framework of this web was becoming clearer, he had yet to see the silver threads which weaved these pieces together. Risa gave a soft sigh, then turned to Hiyori, "And you, Sarugaki-san."

_Che_.

Ichigo turned his attention to the short Vizard, and, as with Shinji's story, left the ambiguity of the disappearing Shinigami alone for the moment. With a slight sniff, the Sarugaki began, "I was a Rukongai kid, brought up in South, Forty Four. It was a little rough, but nothing compared to the shit that happens in the districts above Seventy. The woman who took care of us was a bit of a hag; I went to the Shinōreijutsuin as soon as I'd developed my reiryoku to the point it needed to be at to join the Gotei Thirteen."

"After graduation – that woulda been about a hundred and fifty years ago – I was put straight into Twelfth Division as Eighth Seat, under the then Captain, Hikifune Kirio," oddly enough, she shifted at this, as if what she was saying was making her uncomfortable, "During the whole time I served under her, nothing big happened. I was assigned to guard duty, and a couple of low-key Hollow exterminations; business as usual for anyone in the top ten seats of Twelfth."

"Then, about fifty years later, Hikifune-taichō was offered a place in the Zero Division, the Royal Guard," an almost inaudible sigh, followed by a sharp gleam in her eye, "Her replacement was a real pain; an upstart smartass from Second Division, name of Urahara Kisuke."

Ichigo nearly fell off his seat.

"In the-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Ichigo exclaimed, ignoring the murderous glint in Hiyori's eyes at the interruption, "Urahara Kisuke was _your_ Captain? As in, geta-bōshi? How-"

_Thwack_!

"No disruptions, baldy!" Hiyori growled, before rounding on an oblivious Shinji, "And why the hell didn't you stop him?! You didn't like it when he interrupted _you_. What's up with that?"

"Sorry, I had something crazy in my ear. What d'you say?"

_Thwack_!

"So, anyways," the Sarugaki continued, paying no heed to the twin glowers directed at her, "This Urahara character comes in, and at first, I thought he was a real pain-in-the-ass. Not only was he lazy, and never listened to what you said, but he loved to mess with things. In the first week, he'd completely re-structured the Twelfth Division headquarters, released a highly dangerous psychopath from the most heavily guarded Second Division prison, and founded that damn Research Institute. He made more changes to everything I knew in seven days, than had happened in a hundred years."

Suddenly, the sullen edge to her story dropped, leaving Hiyori with a calm, serious demeanor that Ichigo had never imagined seeing on the diminutive Vizard, "But if there was one thing that _everyone_ knew about Urahara-taichō, it was that he was a frickin' genius."

"I'll say," Love chuckled, "Did you know that he invented a cloak which could entirely conceal a Shinigami's reiatsu?"

"Or that he made a flying machine for Shihōin-san when she said how nice it would be to take wing like a bird?" Rose added.

"I heard he made a gigai which could imitate the abilities of Shinigami. Said that that whole deal with Operation Spearhead at the Institute was based off his models."

"Nah; that was-"

"_Shut-up_!" exploded Hiyori, any hint of earlier composure vanishing with her fiery outburst, "Look, I ain't gonna tell the stupid story, if the lot of you are just gonna keep on interrupting."

A moment of awkward silence, and then the mumbled apologies stumbled from penitent mouths, even a reluctant Kensei being grunting his contrition at the Sarugaki's behest. With a final glare around the circle of largely still Vizard, Hiyori continued.

"We went nine years with Kisuke as our head, and in that time, Twelfth Division crapped all over everything else the other squads came out with," Hiyori said, a ghost of a triumphant grin twisting her wolfish features, "Between the Captain, and that nut Mayuri, Twelfth became nearly as famous as First, and ten times as useful." She hesitated, and then grudgingly admitted, "I learned a bit during that time. When you're stuck between geniuses who always act like they know something you don't, it was impossible to do anything else. It was 'cause I was with Kisuke that I got the brains to create the Walker; and, like I said before, that thing's every bit as good as the stuff they make over in Seireitei."

Shinji cleared his throat pointedly.

Hiyori scowled, "Well, it doesn't look as pretty, but it _is_ way more useful."

_Ahem_.

"I'm getting there, damn it! So yeah, Kisuke was our Captain for around nine years – nearly ten I 'spose – when people started disappearing, off in the outskirts of Rukongai. First reports were that it was just a couple of Rukon citizens who'd gone missing; Seireitei assumed it was a bit of civil unrest, gangs stirring up trouble or something like that. It was only when they sent out some Rukongai official to take care of the problem – thinkin' that that'd be the end of it – and the guy they sent didn't come back that they realized they might have a real problem." A bitter grin, "After all, how could it be anything else, when the only thing found at the fella's destination was a set of clothes, and the fragments of a Hollow's mask; something they hadn't seen for a hundred years."

The pressure in the room soared radically, as if some invisible flag had finally dropped above the heads of the Vizard gathered in this remote, rundown district of Karakura town. No matter which of the Vizard he looked at, the Kurosaki was met with the same grave expression, each with a tinge of reserved judgment; each awaiting his own verdict. Even the usually unreserved Mashiro, and the foul-humored Kensei's eccentric personalities were tempered with a degree of weightiness Ichigo would not have thought possible.

The message could not have been clearer.

The story was drawing to its finale.

"When they couldn't figure what was going on, they sent in the experts," Hiyori said, jerking a thumb at the Kuna and Muguruma, "These two were part of some Ninth Division investigation squad; kinda like those detectives you humans've got. It was Ninth's job to figure out what the hell was happening to everyone out in Rukon. But I think they might be able to tell ya more about _that_ than I can."

She finished with a quick glance at Kensei, who cleared his throat before straightening slightly, golden eyes fastening on Ichigo as his voice dropped into the clipped tones of the officer he once was, "Based on early scouting reports by Second Division, I led a force of fifteen Shinigami to South Rukon, District Sixty-Three on the twenty-fifth of April, 1907. As dictated by the nature of the disappearances, and Ninth Division protocol, the primary investigation consisted of myself, Muguruma Kensei-taichō, my second-in-command, Kuna Mashiro-fukutaichō, a further four seated officers, which comprised the rest of the Investigation Squad, and ten unseated Shinigami who constituted our Vanguard. The Vanguard itself was sent three hours ahead of us, to conduct a preliminary examination of the scene. My squad arrived at the site in the mid-afternoon."

"Within the first hour, the squad's findings were minimal. The Vanguard had left initial evidence – the vanished civilians' garments – at our designated rendezvous point, and the only evident hostile in the area was a Hollow which had been terrorizing some civilian children from the Rukongai. The squad dispatched it, and after a brief deliberation, we concluded that it had not been responsible for the disappearances. It was then that Kuna-fukutaichō made a discovery."

Had Ichigo not been so engrossed in their tale, he might have been a bit more taken aback by Mashiro's solemn character, "Approximately three hundred feet from the site of the Hollow's attack, I discovered a Shihakushō, lying in the brush. There was no indication that the clothing had been voluntarily removed, as the socks were still on the inside of the sandals, and none of the sashes or ties had been undone. Upon further investigation, I discovered nine more Shihakushō nearby."

She gave Ichigo a pointed look, who himself had an expression of troubled comprehension on his face, "After consultation with Muguruma-taichō, the uniforms were identified to be those of our Vanguard."

"Following a thorough examination of the abandoned Shihakushō, it was concluded that whatever was destroying the konpaku was an unknown pathogen," Kensei broke in, "Before I was made Captain of Ninth, I was part of a team that eliminated a Hollow whose primary ability was the release of a toxic substance which destabilized the reishi surrounding it. Based on this, it was deemed impossible for us to continue with the investigation until the nature of the pathogen and its effects were identified. I ordered a camp and perimeter be set up, in order to provide a barrier between the enemy and Seireitei, and also to become the bait for our enemies. In the meantime, we sent for a Twelfth Division scientist; an expert in the field who would be able to identify exactly what it was that we were up against."

A piece of the puzzle clicked into place in Ichigo's mind, his eyes flashing to Hiyori.

She gave him a slow nod, her air perturbed.

"At that time, Urahara-taichō was busy with the final testing of a specialized gigai model that he'd created, and Mayuri-baka never left the labs, no matter what the circumstances were. As the Laboratory Head, and Lieutenant of Twelfth Division, I was judged to be the most suited alternative," a hesitant tinge, as if she were leaving something out; though Ichigo had no idea what it could be, "I left in the late evening, with enough material to classify the Ninth Division's problem."

A long silence.

"Better that she had stayed there."

Ichigo stared at Kensei, willing him to continue. The man scowled, the words coming one by one, as inevitably as prisoners to the executioner's block, "By nine o'clock, we had secured our camp. Myself, the Lieutenant, and a Third Seat, Kasaki Heizō had retired to our quarters, awaiting the arrival of the researcher from Twelfth. At nine fifteen, we heard cries of alarm from the sentries, all of whom were Seated officers. In the time that it took to move from our sleeping mats to outside, the entire Investigation Squad had been slaughtered."

The Kurosaki felt a jolt of shock, knowing full well that the time it would take for a Gotei Thirteen Captain to move that kind of distance was less than blinking.

"Outside, there was no one in sight; either within, or beyond the camp's perimeters. The squad – Ninth's Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth Seats – had already fallen, and it was clear that they never stood a chance against whatever it was that attacked them. Nor did we, as it turned out." His voice became hard, harsh, "Kasaki was killed within moments of leaving the cover of the tent. I called to Mashiro, but it was too late … I was hit from behind."

Boiling, crimson.

Rage.

"Betrayed."

Ichigo sighed, feeling every bit of Kensei's turmoil as the man finished his story. To be betrayed. As cold as the most bitter ice of winter; as hard as the most unyielding of steel. He knew the feeling. If there had ever been a time when he thought he might understand even a bit of the strangeness of the Vizard, it was now.

_Hollow_! _Hollow_! _Hollow_!

The buzzing screech of the Pass echoed across the length of the derelict structure, slicing through the silence as a knife through butter. A tense moment. Ichigo groaned regretfully as he climbed to his feet, giving the circle of Vizard a long glance. Expectant, frustrated looks met him, as if even they wanted nothing more than to tell him their final secret; to give him the answers that he most wanted. That he may, at last, have some reason to believe in them, trust them.

No matter how small.

He reached for Zangetsu.

"Yo, Ichigo, don't worry about it," Shinji grinned, an evident glint in his eye, "I've got this one."

Ichigo stared at him.

"Come on; don't gawk like I'm crazy," the Vizard snorted, raising a sardonic eyebrow, "Don't you think I can handle a Hollow?"

That wasn't really the issue.

The Kurosaki was torn. Karakura was his home; protecting it was his duty. When he'd accepted that Pass from Ukitake, he had officially gained the office of Deputy; he had been inducted into the ranks of the Shinigami, willingly acknowledging his loyalties to the Gotei Thirteen. To forsake that duty – that _obligation_ – even for one night, felt … wrong. And yet, he had already given up those allegiances. Or at least, some of them. To go was to follow Soul Society; to stay was to choose the Vizard.

There was no decision.

With a sigh, he dropped to the floor.

Shinji chuckled, "Don't be such a loser, Ichigo. I'll handle it; these guys can finish up this little tale, and you can ask your questions when I get back. Sound like a deal?"

Lost in his own confusing snarl of emotions, Ichigo didn't catch the significant glance that the unofficial leader shot his masked companions, before slinging his zanpakutō across his shoulder, whistling a jaunting tune as he made his way to the door. A shunpo, a sharp _clang_ as the rusted gate was blown back on its hinges, and he was gone.

Ichigo stared after him, slowly returning to the circle, the others watching him appraisingly.

"Once Kensei and Mashiro went down, it didn't take Seireitei long to discover that the Investigation Squad was in some serious trouble," Love started, continuing from where Kensei had left off, "Within the hour, all twelve Captains had been gathered to First Division headquarters. The old man was in a hurry to get the issue dealt with; he wanted us Captains to take care of the problem, no matter what it took. We were halfway through the meeting when Kisuke finally turned up, wanting to join the retrieval squad." Beneath his dark shades, Ichigo thought his eyes might have shifted to Hiyori, "Yamamoto-taichō didn't even consider it."

"Instead, Rose, Shinji and myself were chosen to go out and find out what had happened to Ninth. Both Grand Kidō Chief and Vice Kidō Chief of the Kidōchō were also meant to accompany us Captains on the mission, but after a bit of arm pulling on Eight Division Kyōraku-taichō's part, his own Lieutenant, Yadōmaru Risa, replaced Tsukabishi Tessai on the squad."

For the second time that morning – granted, the sun wouldn't rise for another couple of hours, but it was still technically morning – Ichigo fell off his seat. That big guy was also a Captain-level Shinigami? He was starting to wonder who he knew that _hadn't_ actually been in the Gotei Thirteen in the past.

Hiyori frowned, "When I got to the campsite, 'bout the same time the meeting was ending, the Investigation Squad had been down for an hour already. But after I counted the bodies, it was pretty obvious that three of 'em were missing. By the time I got my shit together and thought of sounding the alarm, it was too late. The bastards sprung a friggin' trap; came up outta the ground like rabbits. At first I thought they were just Hollows; it was dark as hell out there, all I could see was the mask and the eyes. But as soon as they got close, which was pretty damn fast, it was pretty clear they weren't just some Hollows with iron balls, come to Soul Society to snatch a few pluses."

Her frown became a slight grimace, though that was nothing next to the pained snarl that had replaced Kensei's iron expression, "Apart from the weird-ass masks hiding their faces, it was pretty easy to see that it was Kensei and Mashiro."

"I tried to use the Shikai against 'em. Figured if I could disable them somehow, I'd be able to take 'em in, and we could figure out how to get them back to normal," a wry grin, "'Course it wasn't as easy as I thought. Ended up getting my ass handed to me. Tried to back off, regroup and whatever, but these guys were on a whole new level. I was trying to circle around, and get some cover in the trees, when the rest of the guys finally showed."

"As soon as we arrived, Kensei attacked," Love went on, "We didn't stand a chance against him, especially since he was in the middle of the transformation process. Shinji wanted us to subdue him without doing too much harm, but even Hachi's level sixty-three Bakudō couldn't pin him down for more than a minute or so. Three Captains and two Lieutenants against one Hollow; should have been a piece of cake. As it was, some of us were struggling to stay alive." A mirthless chuckle, "Then Mashiro joined the fight."

"Hiyori was already injured. Risa went down. Kensei nearly took me and Rose out with a Cero. Mashiro was on the offensive. We wouldn't have lasted, if Hachi hadn't gone and pulled out the big guns. It took a level seventy-five Bakudō to stop Mashiro, and a level _ninety-nine_ technique to pin down Kensei; more than the power needed to suppress an Adjuchas-class Menos. We were getting ready to regroup," a flicker, "Then we lost Hiyori."

There was no confusion amongst the gathered as to what _lost_ meant.

Ichigo peeked across the circle. The Sarugaki was deliberately turned away from him, a hint of crimson shame tinting her cheeks. For the first time since his arrival, he felt something other than resentment toward the girl. In fact, this feeling, this rush of warmth in his chest, felt uncomfortably akin to kinship. He knew what it was like to be swallowed by the darkness, to be afraid of his own soul. He would never admit it, but there was one thing he _could_ identify in the confused jumble of emotions running circles around his head.

Sympathy.

And that, more than anything he'd yet encountered, scared him.

"She hit Shinji first; hard enough to take him down in a single strike. We tried to back him up, but we didn't even get a chance to." A pause, "We were attacked from behind."

A spike of murderous hatred from Kensei.

Ichigo glanced at him curiously, "Who was it?"

Another gap.

"Ninth Division, Fifth seat, Tōsen Kaname," the onetime Ninth Captain growled finally, "Apparently, the treacherous shit-rag used a specialized Bankai to take down the whole friggin' group."

"It was a Bankai that muted the senses," Rose explained, "Kisuke told us about it afterwards. He said that only the person holding the hilt of Tōsen's zanpakutō would be immune to its effects."

Ichigo barely heard him. At the sound of the traitor's name, the rest of the pieces had fallen into place, a nearly audible _click_ echoing through his mind as the fragments of stories flew together, coalescing into the tattered fabric of the devious scheme it was. The disappearances in the Quincy extermination, the pathogen, and now Tōsen's place in the story; everything wound its way back to the one man he had long since suspected had had a hand in the Hollowification of these former Shinigami.

"Aizen Sōsuke," he muttered, a short nod his reply.

Only Aizen could have cut off the investigation into the vanishings two hundred years ago; with that tricky zanpakutō of his, the Central Forty-Six would have been putty in his hands. It would be nothing for him to rid himself of some troublesome Lieutenant who had caught wind of his tests, nor did Ichigo find it difficult to accept that the twisted Shinigami had experimented extensively on both the innocent citizens of Rukongai, and even his own comrades. And then something else snapped into place.

"Shinji was his _Captain_!"

"He never talks about it, but no one takes the fact that Aizen won out against us more seriously than Shinji," Rose said, a grave expression crossing his face, "Especially because of his suspicions. Shinji was onto him from the start; he graduated four years ahead of Aizen, and after he saw the guy fighting on that mission in District Seventy Three, he knew something was up."

"It was because of that that Shinji made him his Lieutenant," Kensei grunted, "Wanted to keep an eye on the bastard. That's why Shinji'll get pissed as hell if ya mention it; even though he was careful, Aizen still came out on top."

Letting his mind chew through that, he glanced up, "So how'd you get away? I mean, Aizen isn't exactly the sort of guy that would just leave you guys hanging round, regardless of ... whatever was going on."

A careful sidestep around the word.

_Hollowification_.

His question met mixed reactions from the rag-tag crowd; what else was new? Hiyori scowled. Hachi smiled. Rose and Love got this kind of wry twinkle in their eyes, while Risa just sighed. Only Kensei, and oddly, Mashiro's expressions were unreadable. But it was the kind of mixed result he'd expect to get, if the answer was either Shinji, or …

"Urahara," he said, answering his own question for the second time that morning.

"Like we said, Kisuke was a real whiz-kid," Love said, "After her figured out what was going on, he didn't just save our asses from Aizen; he also stabilized our transformations." Ichigo felt a jolt of confusion, wondering how the hell he could have pulled that off.

Seeing the boy's baffled expression, Love explained, "Our own transformations were pretty different to yours. According to Kisuke, your Hollowification was a fluke; the chances of you coming out alive were meant to be something like thirty-six thousand to one. Your willpower and monstrous reiryoku were about the only things that stopped your spiritual body from entering the disintegration stage. Instead, you got to jump straight to mask formation. But our transformation was of a whole other kind."

"Aizen's pathogen was a fickle thing," Risa continued, "Urahara-san told us afterward that it was one of the worst pieces of experimentation he'd ever seen. It needed a great deal of time to take effect. At least half an hour, although it was only half of that if it was put straight into the bloodstream. Another problem was the density, or lack thereof. It needed to be absorbed in large quantities, and its extremely low density meant that even a breeze would ruin any chance it had of taking hold. But the biggest problem, the one that Aizen was trying to correct, was that the particles themselves were, in Urahara-san's words, fundamentally unstable."

"It was the reason for the Rukon disappearances," Hiyori continued, surprisingly in her element on this subject of science, "The pathogen was designed to attack the heart of the konpaku, amplifying feelings of despair and hatred, which were key parts of the Hollowification process. What Aizen _couldn't_ judge was the effect the pathogen would have on people of different reiryoku levels, especially since the pathogen wasn't really that stable."

"So even though the first stages of infection affected the citizens of Rukongai, the idiot's little science project was stopped short 'cause of its one major flaw; the transformation accelerators were way more than anything a regular konpaku could handle. The process was meant to cause a transformation where the growing Hollow entity would feed off the old konpaku, and once they were at an equal level, both halves would sustain 'emselves off the other. Instead, all of his test subjects were obliterated; the Hollow sides grew way too fast for the pluses to compensate, which just lead to destruction."

"'Course, it didn't take him long to find the problem," she growled, "And that's where we came in. Since we were all at Lieutenant and higher, our reiryoku levels were at a point where there was already enough power to balance out with a growing Hollow entity. We were the perfect subjects, but somehow, the prick even managed to screw that up." She ground her teeth, "During the Hollowification process, we were trapped in a sort of stasis as the Hollows took over. Even though we had enough raw power to avoid being annihilated like the others, the accelerators had one other, nasty little surprise for us. 'Cause it sped up the Hollow's growth, the monsters' naturally dominating instincts exploded. To cut a long story short, it attacked the victim's mental faculties. Meaning that if Kisuke hadn't showed up when he did, we woulda been in some deep shit."

A mirthless chuckle.

"After he got us outta there, he tried to reverse the process. Used a prototype he'd been working on seven years before that, when he'd been exploring possibilities for increasing Shinigami combat abilities. But by that time, it was too late; once you've been Hollowified, there's no going back. The best he could do was stabilize the rest of the transformation process, temporarily subduing our inner Hollows 'til we could deal with it ourselves, and stopping our descent into insanity. He'd never liked it; always thought the substance was too risky to use, 'cause of the freaking huge projected failure rate. But it sure saved our asses that day. You might've heard of it. Was called the Hōgyoku."

Ichigo scowled.

He'd heard of it.

He squinted at the others as the silence dragged on.

"So that's it? The end?"

"Well I don't know about the_ end_," Rose said with a small smile, "We were sentenced to death the next day for the 'illegal obtainment of Hollow powers' under the orders of the Central Forty-Six Chambers. Aizen engineered the circumstances so it looked like Kisuke had been the one performing the illegal experiments; it was the reason he was exiled in the first place. But, as usual, things didn't work out quite the way the Central Forty-Six might have hoped. Within the space of two hours, Yoruichi-san and Kisuke had spirited themselves away to Earth, bringing us, and the all-important Hōgyoku, with them."

"It wasn't long before we figured out how to suppress our own Hollows," Risa said, "Urahara didn't contact us much after that; he usually keeps to himself. He told us that the further out of the way we stayed, the safer from Aizen we would be. It was only a few weeks ago, when we heard that you were in the middle of your transformation, that we saw him for the first time in thirty years."

Ichigo leaned back slowly, feeling a little drained from the story.

A little drained, and more than a little relieved.

Everything they'd told him made so much _sense_. It certainly explained Urahara's connection to Aizen, and even where the crazy geta-bōshi fit into the whole story. But most importantly – at least, to the Kurosaki – it gave him some idea, at last, of where the Vizard stood. They'd always been a bit shadowy in his mind. They were Shinigami-Hollows like him, yes, but without any indication of whose side they were on. But this account, this was proof that they weren't on Aizen's side. Maybe they weren't on Soul Society's – he wasn't so sure he would be if he'd been given a death sentence by his former superiors – but they certainly weren't on Aizen's.

Not that that meant he trusted them, he hurriedly corrected himself. He didn't even trust Urahara as far as he could throw him, and that man had been one of his staunchest supporters amongst the Shinigami since the start of this whole mess. Rukia alone had been a special case; she'd saved his family. In Ichigo's books, that merited a little trust. But it'd take a lot more than some mere story for him to put all his faith in these Vizard.

But deep down, though he wouldn't yet admit it, even to himself, in a dark corner of his soul, a tiny space for these lonely Vizard had opened; a flickering spark of kinship lighting up the shadowed recesses.

And as he looked up at the seven gathered around him, poorly masked apprehension directed his way, he thought that he _might_ actually grow to like these guys someday.

Maybe.

XXXX

_Hollow_! _Hollow_! _Hollow_!

Hitsugaya Tōshirō-taichō's eyes snapped wide, hand flipping open the tiny cell phone with a sigh. A single white dot, inching slowly across the grid there, blinked back at him, the tiny digits dancing across the screen in front of him. Shaking his head tiredly, he turned to poke his Lieutenant in the small of her back, but was brought up short by a soft snore. Groaning, he turned away from her, grabbed Hyōrinmaru's hilt, popped a gikongan pill, and with a quick shunpo, had vanished from the house of Inoue Orihime.

The rooftops were quiet as he ghosted away.

It had been a chaotic twenty four hours. Yamomoto had been in near constant contact after the near-disaster of the Arrancar incursion. There had been calls for a larger squad to be put in place; for a more experienced commander to replace the relatively green Hitsugaya. If not for the fact that no lives had been lost in the attack, the boy might have already been replaced by one of the more senior Captains.

The Inoue girl had been tremendously accommodating in the aftermath. Her Shun Shun Rikka had had the entire squad healed in a matter of hours, allowing the group to regenerate their reiryoku without the need for any Kidō-based healing. She'd even prepared meals for them afterwards, laughing off the others' protests that she should rest. Her house was a mess, filled to bursting, and she was still going out of her way to help them. Soul Society owed a fair bit to her.

His cell _beeped_ incessantly.

Fumbling it open, he blinked, an icy trickle running down his back as his feet brought him to an abrupt halt. He stared at the screen, then looked up. Rubbing a suddenly clammy hand across his brow, he looked back down, hoping that it was just the last vestiges of sleep playing tricks on his mind. A jolt of fear as the words didn't change.

_Warning: Arrancar_.

His breath hitched. Clumsy fingers sketched a quick message, struggling to get out the one word he needed.

_When_?

Several, long moments.

A single _beep_. The reply.

_Imminent_.

He about-faced, his shunpo moving him faster than ever before. He had to get back to Inoue's house. With the amount of spiritually aware people gathered there, the Arrancar would be drawn to it like a moth to light. And if they decided to bring out any really strong fighters, like that Grimmjow character Kuchiki had reported, with Hitsugaya half a town away, then the squad was going to be in serious trouble. Especially since they weren't expecting a follow-up assault for at least another week.

Suddenly, Ikkaku's long Hollow hunt took on a whole new dimension.

He was so caught up in his thoughts, racing toward the eastern districts of Karakura, that he didn't sense the tearing of dimensional fabric far above. Didn't sense the shadowed presence bearing down on him until it was far too late.

"_Kubire_, _Trepadora_!"


	6. El Color De La Noche

**Zero**

**Chapter 5**

**El Color De La Noche**

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez scowled as he slid from the inky mouth of the Garganta, the cool night of Karakura enveloping him as the city was slated out around him. The eastern horizon was dark. Dawn was a while away yet. Just the sight of the place pissed him off, humans scurrying about all over the place, weak little shits that they were. In his mind, Aizen's grand plan was pretty badly screwed up; there was no way in hell he'd be able to extract enough power to create the Ōken from a _human_ city.

Hell, even _this_ plan was more than a little shaky. He grunted as he caught sight of another Garganta tearing open a little way off, tired mouth spewing out a few Números, and then snapping to a close once more. A scowl as he they dove toward the town, cackling and whooping wildly.

"Friggin' amateurs."

Turning away from them, he reeled in his temper, focusing instead on the numerous sources of reiatsu in Karakura. From what he could sense, the operation was already well on its way. By now, there were at least a dozen Arrancar here, including that idiot, Luppi. The rest of the force wouldn't be far behind. From the city below, he could sense two Shinigami moving about; the rest were immobile, although there was a reasonably large cluster in one district. He picked through them carefully, before snarling.

No Kurosaki.

Putting a hand over his eyes, he strained to focus his pesquisa, searching for any sign of his target. The kid couldn't be that far off; from what the Privaron could tell, that insane power of his had done nearly as much damage to himself as it had to Grimmjow. Then there was the girl. She'd been seriously messed up by the end of that guy's rampage. Ichigo wasn't the kind of asshole who'd just leave a friend behind like that. He'd be hanging around somewhere nearby.

He was locked so tightly in the trance-like pesquisa that, had a being with the spiritual fortitude of a pea crossed into Karakura at that moment, he would have detected it instantly.

And when another Shinigami arrived moments later, he knew it at once.

His first thought was that it was Ichigo. The _feel_ of the power coming from whoever it was was damn similar to the Kurosaki's when he fought Grimmjow the other night. But it only took a moment to realize his mistake. Compared to Ichigo's wildly flailing reiatsu, this guy's power was sharper, refined. But what really interested Jaegarjaquez, was that this guy's pressure had that same dark tinge to it that was always present in Ichigo's. As if someone had stained water with tar.

That little dark tinge that felt somewhat Hollow-like.

Grinning wildly, the former Sexta broke out of his trance, sónido carrying him flying toward the mysterious new arrival. This guy had something to do with Ichigo, he was almost certain of it. He'd catch this guy, beat the crap out of him, find out where the hell Ichigo was, and then go beat the shit out of the kid. After all, his recall at Tōsen's hands was as good as a loss in his eyes.

And Grimmjow wasn't one for losing.

XXXX

Matsumoto Rangiku grimaced as she ran her hand along the length of her blade, spitting the words as she glared at her enemy.

"_Unare, Haineko_!"

The zanpakutō disintegrated with a threatening hiss, the comforting cloud of swirling ash spinning up and around the buxom Lieutenant. The Arrancar merely sneered, the gesture fiercer for the ivory fragment that masked the left side of his face. With that odd, lurching version of the shunpo, the monster dove at her, claws outstretched.

Reeling mentally, Matsumoto brought up her shield of ash, Haineko whirling menacingly. The Arrancar snarled, ducking to the left as he swung at her unprotected side. Spinning deftly, she brought the cloud down upon his exposed arm. The demon darted backward, before leaping high. The Lieutenant yanked upward, bringing the zanpakutō back into a defensive stance. But instead of darting downward for the expected strike, the Arrancar grinned, a long, crooked finger directed at her as an ominous crimson light formed at its tip.

"_Cero_!"

Matsumoto braced herself, distantly feeling Haineko tensing at the sudden impact. While it wasn't as strong as an Adjuchas-class Menos', the technique had more than enough force to shake the zanpakutō's power. Curling her lip, she leant her support to her partner, feeling the raging flow of Haineko's reiatsu as though it were her own.

She lunged forward, hilt thrust toward the enemy. The zanpakutō hissed as it shrouded the shocked Arrancar's arm, shearing it off at the shoulder. The Números grunted, ripping his own blade from his sheath as he darted out of the deadly ash cloud's range. Angling the blade sharply, the Ochenta Noveno leapt forward with sónido, hissing as he drove forward.

He wouldn't lose.

He couldn-

_Schlick_.

The Arrancar gave little more than a sigh as a thousand blades of ash sliced through his skull in a triumphant arc of grey, his body falling with a heavy _thump_ to the ground below, zanpakutō clattering to the path at his side. Sparing him no more than a glance to ascertain that he wasn't getting back up, Matsumoto reeled in Haineko, drawing the zanpakutō back into her katana-like shell before diving through the gaping hole in Orihime's roof.

There had been next to no warning. One of those Garganta had opened a few hundred feet above Inoue's house; the building had been struck by a Cero within seconds of the Arrancar's incursion. If it weren't for the girl's proficiency with those Shun Shun Rikka, Ayasegawa would have lost more than just his arm in that initial attack.

She frowned as she caught sight of the chestnut mop, eyes screwed up in concentration as she healed the Eleventh Division man's ruined appendage. Yumichika didn't look as if he were in any pain; just annoyed.

"How much longer is this going to take?" he complained.

"Ah, at least another half hour," Orihime replied apologetically.

The Shinigami looked horrified, as if the thought of being tied down here for any longer than a minute would kill him, "Forget it then. I can fight well enough with just the one."

"Don't be an idiot," Matsumoto grunted, butting in, "I'm not sending you out to take on an invading Arrancar force with one hand." She ignored the narcissist's glare, "We'll hold this position until back-up arrives." Ignoring the less-than-polite curses that Yumichika was throwing her way, she slipped into a trance, visualizing the numerous ribbons of reiryoku floating around Karakura. What she felt nearly made her drop her sword.

There were nearly two dozen black threads, outnumbering the by-far inferior Shinigami force by around three to one. While her initial panic subsided when she realized that most of these were only about as powerful as the guy she'd just finished off, and not really a problem for any of the Captains gathered there, there were at least two Arrancar which were as strong as the one who had led that last incursion.

_Espada_.

She frowned. _Those_ Arrancar were all at the level of Captain or higher, and at that moment, there were only two Shinigami of that caliber in Karakura; four when counting Urahara and Yoruichi. And from what she had gathered, that Ichigo – easily holding the power of a Captain himself – had been beaten pretty badly by that last Espada. So even though the rest of the squad was comprised of Lieutenant-degree fighters, the night promised to be both very long, and very bloody.

That Kurosaki kid had sure picked a bad day to go missing.

She was just turning back to where Orihime and Yumichika were huddled when it happened.

Three of the jet black ribbons, so dark and ominous only moments before, shriveled up and vanished.

Of course, normally, this would be less than an issue. In fact, if any of the Shinigami on patrol had been able to take out three Arrancar at once, they probably would have been up for promotion upon return to the Seireitei. The real problem lay with the fact that none of the Shinigami actually capable of taking out a troupe of Arrancar that size were within ten miles of the site.

The Arrancar had simply vanished.

It shouldn't have been possible, but there was no mistaking it; they were gone.

_CRASH_!

She started, leaping to the window in time to see two Arrancar falling side-by-side to the middle of the street outside. Pushing away mysteries of vanishing enemies, she drew Haineko from her sheath once more, giving Yumichika and his attendant a final glance before rushing out Inoue's new entrance, her zanpakutō already blurring into a violent cloud of ash around her.

"_Unare, Haineko_!"

XXXX

Kuchiki Rukia snarled as she lashed out her opponent, the whitened tip of _Sode no Shirayuki_ spearing toward the monster's unguarded side. The Arrancar snorted, stepping calmly off the building's edge to avoid her blow. His maw yawned wide as he roared a Cero at her. Dropping out of the beam's way, she slashed at the monster's legs. The Arrancar swung its own zanpakutō down in a sharp block, its wild grin gleaming with all the untamed ferocity of a wild animal.

With an annoyed mumble, Rukia leapt back, eyes never leaving the Arrancar. She was tempted to use one of her three Dances, but was hesitant to waste too much of her reiryoku this early in the battle. It was already clear that she was going to be fighting well into the night, and she wanted the three Dances to be her trump cards. There was no chance that she'd be able to keep fighting after a couple of uses; they were an absolute last resort. Which left her only zanjutsu, and kidō.

Frowning, she cast out a hand at the Arrancar, carefully siphoning off a sliver of her power, "Bakudō Thirty; _Shitotsu Sansen_!"

The tri-tiered barrier slammed against the creature's lean figure, the Arrancar grunting as he was crushed against the bricks of the adjacent building. He glared across at her, crucified eyes scorning her from beneath his skull-rimmed mask. Drawing her blade back, Rukia darted forward, weightless as her step shot her toward the enemy, the razor tip of the white zanpakutō leaning for his throat. But to her horror, a wide grin broke out beneath the crescent moon mask, his eyes smiling cruelly at her as he burst out of the barrier with an effortless heave. It was too late for her to change course; she could only watch as the Arrancar's weapon rose to meet her, his white grin behind it.

"_Hoero, Zabimaru_!"

The serpentine blade curled around the Arrancar's darting sword arm, Zabimaru's master's wrist flicking casually as he snapped the monster's arm in several places. The Arrancar screeched as, with another tug, the rest of his arm was yanked from its socket. The Shinigami alighted on the flattened rooftop, his zanpakutō reeling in the still struggling Arrancar. Rukia merely glared at the newcomer.

"Why'm I the one who's always got to save your ass?"

"Who needed saving?" she returned indignantly.

Renji opened his mouth, then apparently thought better of it, the cocky smirk dropping, "You seen Ichigo?"

Rukia scowled, glancing away. She hadn't seen head nor hide of Ichigo in nearly two days, and that bothered her. Although she knew she'd helped him break down a couple of the road blocks that were blocking up his mind's highway, but she'd be kidding herself to assume that restraining a Hollow within one's own consciousness would be easy. She wouldn't be surprised if Urahara had some idea as to where he was, or if the boy had gone off on some reckless venture of his own to regain control of his mind. Inoue, at any rate, hadn't seemed too concerned. Still, not being able to sense the Kurosaki left a murky sense of foreboding wallowing in the pit of her stomach.

"No."

"Fan-friggin'-tastic," Renji muttered, finishing the Arrancar with a clean slice, "Biggest strike Aizen's made so far, and Kurosaki's off picking dandelions." He shook his head, eyes becoming serious, "How many more of them are out there, I wonder?"

Calmly reminding herself that Ichigo was probably a hundred times more capable than she was as she pushed thoughts of him down, Rukia frowned, the slightly out-of-focus spirit ribbons swirling in around her, "A couple short of two dozen, most of them to the north of here." She stretched out with her limited detection powers, "Hitsugaya seems to be holding his own a little to the east, but the rest of our squad seems to still be centred around Inoue's home."

Renji frowned, "By the look of things, the invaders are trying to box them in."

"Maybe." The Kuchiki shook her head, attempting to peer further out into Karakura, "Wait. There seems to be another cell of Arrancar out on their own, moving out to the west. They're advancing into the Mitsumiya district; at least five of them. They're probably heading for Urahara Shōten." She hesitated, but at Renji's quizzical glance, continued, "One of them feels more powerful than the Fracción we fought in the last battle."

He grunted, "Don't worry about it; that Urahara's got even more lives than Yoruichi. Between those two, and the rest of those guys over at the shop, there shouldn't be a problem. It'd be better for us to try and back up the squad over at Inoue's place."

Rukia bit her lip pensively, then nodded.

With a reiryoku-charged leap, the black clad figures were swallowed by the night.

XXXX

Grimmjow grinned wildly as he felt three more Arrancar wink out of existence less than a block away. Whoever this guy was, he could sure as hell handle himself. Tiles cracked under his feet as he accelerated, a final hurling leap carrying him onto the rooftop of the apartment block, the night enveloping him in a shroud of darkness. Ice-chipped eyes darted, seeking. He could almost taste the blood, carried on the slanted shoulders of a dizzy wind. A scrap of white fabric shuffled morosely in the long grass, a teardrop of scarlet staining its immaculate planes. He barely spared it a glance.

He stared around the cityscape warily. He couldn't sense his target. While this wasn't that unusual in itself, considering that any warrior with half a brain would know to shield their presence in the midst of a warzone, what was strange was that Grimmjow had himself been concealing his presence on approach. No Shinigami ribbon trick should have been able to sense him in that state. And yet, this fellow had obviously felt his coming.

This damn operation was finally getting interesting.

"Hey, asshole!"

Grimmjow wasn't really one for pissing around.

Unfortunately for him, his opponent wasn't in a generous mood. A lithe shadow darted out from the heaving mass of black, tie flapping in his wake, infuriating grin stretched in a wide rictus as he lunged forward with his zanpakutō.

"Hush!"


	7. Reunion entre los Reyes

**Zero**

**Chapter 6 **

**Reunión entre los Reyes**

Kurosaki Ichigo frowned.

The confounded contraption was wearing away at the lace-thin remnants of Patience, and he was dangerously close to testing just how much of a charged Getsuga Tenshō the Walker would be able to absorb when he felt a twinge at the edge of his consciousness. His feet stopped dead on the worn treads. On the fringe of his vision, he could see the other Vizard glancing at him curiously, but he blocked them out. Closing his eyes, he sent a cautious probe out into the darkness of his mind. For a moment, he thought he felt something stirring in the depths of the abyss. It subsided. With no small relief, he carefully withdrew.

A mangled claw speared out of the darkness. Panic seized him; his eyes slammed shut as he hurled up his defences. A steel web lashed itself around him, dragging downward with the immovable strength of a demon. Throwing caution to the wind, Ichigo heaved aside the icy veil of fear, breaking past his own wall as he struck violently at the Hollow's power. It hissed violently as it retreated.

He exhaled slowly, wiping the crystals from his brow as he heaved his eyelids open. Glinting brown glared back at him across the Walker's handle. But to his immense surprise, there was no sharp bite from the vicious beast. Instead, Hiyori just shrugged, "Won't be a problem for ya much longer; one way or another."

He swung his head wearily. The other six Vizard were watching him with mixed emotions; concern, apprehension, pity. All with a burnt overtone of caution. He snarled, not for the first time wishing that the bastard would do more than prod him from the shadows. A snicker, echoing hollowly. He tensed, only to realise it was just Love and Rose sharing a quiet joke in the corner, their hushed laughter tiptoeing through the empty warehouse. He ran a frustrated hand through his bleached fringe; now he was getting paranoid.

Before now, he hadn't even been able to sense the Hollow's lurking; not since the Vizard's forced suppression. Not that he ever ventured down there of course. He hadn't visited the planes of his soul since before his maddened caper on the executioner's stage in the Seireitei. It wasn't even the previously petrifying fear of being overrun that held him back; it just wasn't possible for him to venture down that far anymore without being overrun by his internal adversary.

Stepping slowly off the treads, he glanced around. There was no doubt about it. Time passed slower here; Hachi said it was a side-effect of the enormous displacement Kidō he used to keep them suspended in their cosy little pocket of time and space. Ichigo felt like he'd been running well into the morning following the Vizard's revelation, but the reality was that it had been less than an hour; he could still see the twinkling flickers of the cosmos' eyes, staring down through the shattered windows of the old facility.

Clunking down next to Zangetsu's wicked blade, he gave the zanpakutō a longing glance, before turning curiously to Risa and Hiyori, crouched in a corner of the old warehouse. The two were eyeing each other speculatively, thoughts hidden behind interminable indifference as they slipped into their own cautious stances.

It was Hiyori, somewhat unsurprisingly, that made the first move. Fang gleaming with her snarl, she flung her arm out like an old rug, an indecipherable tune rolling off her tongue as she spun four ojami into the air, before directing them at Risa, her elder counterpart catching them with ease. Growling, Hiyori stood up, took a long step back, and then dropped back into her crouch. Risa spun the tiny beanbags at lightning speed, adding a fifth before hurling them back, smiling and retreating as Hiyori too managed to catch them.

It took Ichigo a few long seconds of utter confusion to decide that their odd little game was actually a drastically bastardised version of the otedama he'd once played with Tatsuki when the dojo was closed up for a week. And apparently fiercely competitive, judging by the wicked grin on Hiyori's face as she launched herself into the air, now spinning seven of the skin bags betwixt her palms before shooting them over at Risa. The latter's expression was one of intense concentration as she pushed herself up into the air, moulding reiryoku around the soles of her feet as she bounded into the now-aerial playing ground.

The number of ojami jumped to eight, then nine. Ichigo's perpetually iron frown slowly cracked, a spark of light shimmering through, a small smile creeping its way into the corners of his mouth from some distant and forgotten place. It stretched languidly, basking in the rare warmth. If he had looked hard enough, he might have even noticed it reflected in Hiyori's grinning freckles, shining in Risa's glinting lenses.

But his vision was still a little blurry. As yet, anyway.

The game came to an abrupt end when, at fourteen tiny bean bags, Risa missed Hiyori by a couple of feet, the little beanbag passing straight through the iron beams that supported the warehouse's ceiling, before coming to an abrupt halt as it slammed into Hachi's barrier. Hiyori's scowl swirled back into place, Risa smiling in a self-satisfied sort of way as she held out her hand. The Sarugaki held out for a couple of seconds, then reluctantly plunged into the pits of her jacket, dropping the tattered notes into her partner's patient hand.

"Next win's mine," she growled, eyeing the bulging sack of ojami slung over Risa's shoulder. The woman merely shrugged, stuffing the money into her own pocket before dropping back to the floor. Hiyori caught Ichigo's stare, "The hell are you staring at? No slackin' off, baldy."

The warmth fled; years of reinforced cool skating back into place, "Quit your bossing, kid. It doesn't look good on you."

Ignoring the burning flare that was the girl's temper, he turned back to the Walker. And then he felt a twinge. For a long, frightened moment, he thought the Hollow was going to test its restraints. Again. A moment more to notice that his seven stable counterparts were all glancing around furtively; they'd felt it too. He frowned; according to Hachi, the barrier didn't simply stop humans noticing the presence of the Vizard's hideout, but also acted as a nearly complete pocket for concealing their reiryoku sources from Hollows, or, more importantly, Shinigami. Nearly nothing got in, and even less got out. They'd said there was only one thing that could even possibly hope to release enough reiatsu for them to feel it inside the barrier.

He'd snapped up Zangetsu and was moving for the door faster than blinking.

The other Vizard moved faster. All seven stood between him and the double door. He glared at them, "I know I said I'd stay; but I'm not gonna just sit around here while Karakura is brought down around my ears."

"Well, that's all just hunky dory," growled Kensei, "But you wanna get through this door, you go through us."

Ichigo tensed; he didn't want to fight with the odd, masked army. They'd been surprisingly open with him, with their history and all, despite the fact that their story of exile risked completely alienating him from their cause. And even if it wasn't what he'd been hoping for, he got the feeling that they _were_, in their own peculiar manner, pushing their way into the Hollow subjugation process. All he'd given back to them was his word that he would follow their cause. But if he crossed that threshold, no, drew his sword against these, he'd be casting even that aside. From the back of the room, his Skull Seal screeched at him for the first time in hours, Duty gripping him every bit as tightly as he gripped his sword.

The others seemed to sense his resolve. Risa cast a furtive look at Love. Ichigo too turned to the latter, a question written in a five year-old's scrawl on his hard face. Love stared for a moment, evaluating, and then slowly shook his head, "Sorry, kid. In that state, there's no way in hell we're going to let you try taking on any Espada."

It was only a brief moment of confusion. Followed by an instant of dull, crystalline recognition. They'd known. The whole, freakin' time, they'd known. The early morning cry of the Seal, Shinji's volunteering for a 'routine extermination', their determination to keep him distracted; they'd known there was an invasion coming ever since his arrival. They knew that his home, his _friends_, were in danger.

And they'd kept it from him.

Cold shock was engulfed in a fire hotter and brighter than any sun. Disregarding any sense of loyalty, he dived forward, all his rage pouring into Zangetsu's blade as he struck forward, all his defences falling as he pushed all his strength into one mighty attack. Or so he thought. He was only inches away when he was struck down. But not, oddly, by any physical attack. For, in his maddened state, he had neglected that wall in his mind that forever protected him from his dark counterpart.

The Hollow had pounced.

Love frowned as he stepped forward, cautiously crouching next to the Kurosaki's thrashing form. He reached toward the boy's head; it snapped around. He gestured quickly to Hachi. The huge man formed a complex Kidō, eight curved bars crashing down around the convulsive figure, binding it in place. Love reached forward again, carefully prying open one of Ichigo's tightly shut eyes. A sickening mixture of the kid's dark, paralysed panic and the Hollow's burnished, burning hatred stared out at him. He whipped his hand back as the Shinigami strained against the power of Hachi's Bakudō spell, pushing ever upward.

"He's too close to the surface," Rose murmured at his shoulder, "We're going to have to push him down."

Love nodded, a humourless glint in his eye, "Crazy that we have to bring the monster to the top, to help the kid take out its heart at the bottom."

Drawing upon his own power, he placed his finger on the lashing boy's brow, _pushing_ both Ichigo and the Hollow down into the depths of their shared consciousness. The kid's body went prone. He glanced at Kensei, who, taking the hint, reached down and hefted the prone figure over his shoulder. He glanced at the group's smallest member, "Get the door, Hiyori."

For once, the diminutive Sarugaki didn't argue, instead scurrying over to lower the access ramp to the Vizard's hidden training area. In a moment, the yawning gap into the awe-inspiring desert-scape below the warehouse was filled with the now-hurried figures of the Vizard. Kensei reached the bottom first, leaving the entrance far behind as he rushed to place the already recovering body in the centre of the hungry space.

Love stared across the open expanse as the Muguruma darted back, Hachi slamming his own massive barrier into place around the shaking form of Ichigo. There was a long, tense moment, all the gathered Vizard staring at the newest addition to their ranks as he lay within the prison they had made for him. It didn't take long. With a colossal shriek, the black-clad figure reared up drunkenly, sparks of gold glittering with undiluted malice.

As Mashiro prepared to leap in to begin the opening duel with the monster, Kensei came up beside Love, "It's happening earlier than planned."

"Yeah."

A quiet, cautious pause, "And if Shinji doesn't make it back in time?"

Love stared stonily ahead, stomping down violently on a flickering spark of anxiety, "Then the kid's already down ten minutes."

XXXX

Miles away, Shinji grinned with all the humour of a cold stone as he struck at the Espada, noting the man's fear and panic with a workman's satisfaction. His opponent had long since released his Resurrección, and although he was planning on saving Sakanade for the finisher, he didn't have much time to waste out here in the open. It wouldn't be long before Ichigo figured out that they'd fooled him; the war between the Shinigami and Arrancar was releasing a tonne of reiatsu over the oblivious city. He had to get back, before the situation at the warehouse imploded.

Grimmjow snarled, ripping forward with his claws outstretched. Shinji deflected the blow almost routinely. He chastised himself. He was playing with the crippled Espada, and he didn't have the time for it.

Perhaps sensing his enemy's boredom, Grimmjow threw caution to the wind. With a panicked motion he hurled his hand back, gathering as much power as he could into his only useful hand. Shinji's eyes widened as the Privaron's power skyrocketed, a tangible blue aura glowing around his wickedly curved claws. Grimmjow grimaced as his growing power hit levels capable of levelling ten city blocks. There'd be hell to pay when he had to face Aizen, but he'd deal with it later; he'd do whatever it took to kill this asshole. And there was no way in hell the guy could take a fully charged Desgarrón head on and hope to survive.

He stared down at the Vizard, lining him up. With an animalistic roar, he leapt forward, an odd scent catching in his nose as his arm streaked forward. And then, with an odd, swooping sensation, the world was inverted. It took Grimmjow only the barest of instants to realise his mistake as his clawed assault was sent soaring harmlessly into the sky; the world around him safe in its inversion. The guy was gone. An instant of wild panic, and then the shock. A blade sliding seamlessly into his back.

Shinji stared along the blade emotionlessly, his rounded mask slowly dripping away as golden instinct was replaced by a more natural, glinting black.

"Kurosaki," the bleeding tear of his lips gurgled. Shinji merely shook his head, sliding his blade slowly out of his opponent's chest.

"Sorry, Espada, but Ichigo ain't ready for the likes of you yet."

With an enraged gasp, Grimmjow slammed into the ground, his body disintegrating with his spirit. The glittering malice and hatred of the Hollowness that lay at his core seeped out of him, a spray of crimson rain bursting from his lips as his soul was broken down, a spite-filled curse bleeding from his eyes as he stared up at his nemesis. And then, with a final, mournful howl, the wind ripped him away.

Shinji stared at the place the Privaron had previously occupied impassively, before turning away with a scowl. Any Shinigami within a hundred miles would have sensed that final attack. He probed the skies of the cityscape cautiously, his venture like fingers creeping across black silk. True to form, two blobby presences were making their way toward him; the stronger of the two held what Shinji judged to be the power of a Shinigami Lieutenant. His time out here was up. He had to get back to cover. The Shinigami would have to handle the rest of this little invasion by themselves.

Leaping out into the predawn light, his shunpo flashing him across the rooftops, Shinji vanished once more.

XXXX

Inoue Orihime bit her lip as the Shinigami shrugged into his Shihakushō, his impatience clawing at her across the length of the room. Snatching his weapon up from the floor, Ayasegawa gave her a brisk nod of thanks before rushing out the door. In the streets beyond, the battle was nearing its peak. The hiss of Matsumoto's zanpakutō whispered its way across the porch, sneaking across the threshold. Light flashed in the light-smeared heavens, the stars fading pinpricks on greying satin.

She peeked out the window cautiously. Across the street, Matsumoto and now Ayasegawa were ascending into a heavenly battle with a trio of sickly Arrancar, their fervent warring carrying them ever and away from Orihime's apartment. She bit her lip. Not for the first time that night, she wondered if she should go to Tatsuki. The girl was vulnerable as it was, and the district the hospital lay in, although quite a distance away from the centre of the action, was still close enough that a rogue Arrancar might be lured there.

Then, of course, there was Ichigo. Like the Shinigami, she hadn't been able to sense his spiritual presence in Karakura for a couple of days; it was almost enough to worry her. However, her anxiety was arrested by the fact that she thought she'd caught a whiff of him when wandering through the markets near the harbour districts earlier. She hadn't been quite able to discern exactly where his scent was emanating from, but she was almost certain that the moody Kurosaki was alright. Still, Soul Society needed him, and if there was anything she could do to help, then help she would do.

Locking up her apartment – after all, thieves weren't going to be stopped by a war they couldn't see – she rushed out the door, hair flicking into her face as she hurried toward the market district.

XXXX

Hirako Shinji was long gone when Renji and Rukia finally arrived. The raw power of Grimmjow's Desgarrón had been visible to all of the Shinigami gathered high above Karakura; the sheer aura of the technique was still palpable in the air around the apartment block upon the pair's arrival. It was oppressive, ruthless as a revolutionary. It blotted out the auras of the many battlers of the skies. Even the immense power of the Tenth Division Captain was dimmed by the sheer intensity of the residual reiatsu of an Espada's attack.

Rukia sniffed as she landed adroitly, "It's thicker here."

"No kidding," Renji grunted, peering around the site from his flagpole perch, "The boys back home make ramen thinner than this shit. Whoever pulled off this technique sure as hell wasn't pulling any punches."

The Kuchiki merely nodded her agreement, eyes tracing the path a stray Cero had burnt into the concrete.

Renji hefted Zabimaru absently, the nue's long teeth slipping comfortably over his shoulder, "Well, whoever won out here's obviously long gone. Though I can't imagine any of the guys assigned to this district could have taken on an Arrancar with that kind of power. I'd say the Espada's probably powered down, moved on so as not to get caught with his pants down."

Rukia cocked an eyebrow, "Espada?"

Renji nodded, "I can't see any of the smaller fries we've seen so far letting off steam this hot."

"You're probably right," the Kuchiki murmured, surveying the battlefield once more, "Though it is a surprise."

"What?"

"Your being right."

"Shut-up."

Rukia was on the verge of what she thought was a quite clever reply when something caught her eye. Leaping down to the rooftops, she crossed to the corner of a ravaged courtyard, Renji, grumbling, following. Reaching into the shadows, she grabbed the odd object, and pulled it up to the light. She almost dropped it again.

"What's the deal?" Renji muttered quizzically, staring between Rukia's shocked countenance, and the object in her hand, "It's just a Hollow's mask."

"How many Arrancar have you seen wearing masks?" Rukia murmured, running a hand over the ribbed mask, "Even the guys who've released their zanpakutō don't usually regain their masks."

"Might not mean anything," Renji replied, "Might have just been some regular Hollow that's got caught in the cross-fire."

"Hollows act on base instincts; they're not stupid," the Kuchiki argued, "Any Hollow that showed up in Karakura this morning would have sensed enough reiatsu being released to realise that any ventures into the city would be pretty much suicidal. Think about it." She paused, giving him a ghostly look, "I'm guessing it wasn't any Hollow that left this mask here."

The pair tensed, both knowing exactly what the other was thinking. Renji shifted, suddenly blinded as the sun peered with blinding curiosity across the lips of the horizon, "Well, there's no point in worrying about him now. We're better off seeing where we'll be useful."

Rukia hesitated, but nodded slowly, tucking the cracked mask into a fold of her Shihakushō. No matter where he was, Ichigo was out of their reach. With a shared nod, they dashed away from the battleground, flashing footsteps quickly carrying them off and away.

XXXX

Kon shuddered as he felt another tremor wrack the flimsy wood of Urahara Kisuke's walls. Dawn was peeping voyeuristically through the shuttered windows, Ururu sprawled tiredly against the locked-and-bolted door, her bandaged bazooka lying just within reach. In one of the back rooms, the enigmatic owner of the establishment was muttering unintelligibly, his long-time co-conspirator murmuring along with him.

The Kaizō Konpaku frowned at the seal on his belly. The insane scientist had hit him with it as soon as he'd walked through the door, and the Mod Soul hadn't been able to leave the old shop since. To top it off, Urahara had been less than forthcoming about either how to get the stupid seal off, or just where the hell Ichigo had gotten to in the past couple of days. It was a royal pain-in-the-ass, tracking the kid around the town like this.

He'd be sure to make him pay some day soon. Somehow.

He glared across the room, "Hey, kid."

Ururu peered at him across the dusty storeroom, eyes as wide and bright as galleons on a sea of mist. Kon wandered over slowly, leaping onto the bench beside her, "Would you mind letting me outta here? I kinda got places I gotta be."

"I can't," Ururu sniffled, "Urahara-san told us that no one could leave until the fighting is over."

"Yeah, but I ain't one of your boss's weird-ass test subjects," the Gikongan growled, "Seriously, there're guys who need me out there."

But Ururu didn't budge; moon-like eyes staring wordlessly back at him. Kon groaned inwardly; looked like he was going to have play hard-ball, and with a little girl too. Only positive was that the target was quite probably the most gullible girl in Karakura. Somehow, that didn't quite assuage his guilt. This just wasn't his day.

"Fine," he muttered in false dejection, _plomping_ himself on the edge of the bench. Letting the silence drag on, he finally looked up as Ururu's eyes drooped once more with boredom and exhaustion, "Hey, you wanna see a trick?"

The girl said nothing, which Kon took as an affirmative.

"All you've got to do now, is open your mouth and close your eyes."

He could see the obvious suspicion, and then the slight shift of a shrug, and the yawning wide of Ururu's mouth. Frowning with a kind of focus he wasn't used to, Kon _pushed_ violently against the edges of his soul. Pain tore at him, unimaginable burns tearing at the shifting lines of his consciousness. A scream would have torn itself from his throat, but he no longer had a throat to scream from; the tiny pod that was his being soaring from his plush body, shooting forward as he self-ejected his entire being. A little trick he'd learnt in his days on the run.

The hopeless girl didn't even blink as the tiny pod slid down her throat, and her own soul was abruptly ejected from the host she inhabited. Kon flexed his knuckles experimentally, watching the listless figure of Ururu's soul stumble around for a moment before shaking her own head apologetically, "Sorry about this, but I've really got to go."

Swinging back his – or her - arm, he – or she - let forth a vicious jab at the lock on the door; it shattered instantly under the pressure of Ururu's mean punch. He hurled it open, and was leaping forward, thinking how much of an awesome combo his legs would be with Urahara's charge's arms, when he felt a light tap on the back of his skull. He sighed as the feather-light touch of ejection hit him, Urahara Kisuke's cane passing through Ururu's skull with inane ease.

From his pod on the floor, Kon snarled violently.

Urahara smiled good-naturedly as he carefully pressed Ururu's two halves back together, the girl appearing a little dizzy, but otherwise alright. Patting her affectionately on the shoulder, he scooped up the Kaizō Konpaku, smiling cheerfully at the frustration emanating from the little orb.

"I told you," he said warmly, pocketing the Mod Soul, "Good things come to those who wait. Have a little patience."

If he'd listened hard enough, he might have heard the call of, "Fortune cookie bullshit!"

But Urahara Kisuke had never been much one for listening. Turning back indoors, he made sure Ururu was alright before closing up the shop once more, plastering a handy _Closed for Renovations_ sign across the door. Yoruichi blinked at him owlishly from the shadows of the backroom.

"You ready to put this plan into action?"

Kisuke smiled craftily, scratching absently at his chin.

"Soon; very soon."

XXXX

Hiyori scowled as she skidded across the loose gravel, Kubikiri Orochi snarling in her clutch. Spinning the gigantic cleaver back up over her shoulder, she shot to her feet, slamming her weapon down in a heavy block against the wild strike of the Hollow. Not sparing It for a second, she leapt high, swinging her zanpakutō in a vicious horizontal slice. The monster screeched as it deflected the blow, a black flame burning in its golden eyes as it shot a Getsuga Tenshō at the diminutive Vizard.

Hiyori's eyes widened; as yet, the Hollow hadn't used the destructive technique. There was no telling as to how much power It would be able to put into it. Opting for safe over sorry, she leapt high again, hurling her weapon far above herself. The Hollow snarled as its attack swept below her, grinding violently through the rough earth. The Sarugaki frowned at the trail of destruction; would have make sure she kept clear of that one.

"Hiyori!"

She spun at Rose's shout, realising too late her distraction. The Hollow grinned maniacally, growing mask mere inches away, as it struck out with its reiatsu-clad claw, the black energy streaking from the bulk of its armour. Hiyori cursed, hand coming down in a reflex, her own horned mask forming as she caught the slash mid-strike. The Hollow appeared to halt a moment, confused by the suddenly darkened aura of its opponent. The Sarugaki seized the moment, lifting her legs high before slamming them both down in a brutal axe-kick. The beast growled as it crunched against the ground, knees buckling from the force of the assault.

As she caught her spinning blade, she glared down at the hulk of the Hollow, not letting even an inch of him out of her sight. She was only the second fighter, and Ichigo's body had already nearly vanished into the glinting white shell of bone; the mask for the maddened instinct that lay beyond. The consumption was happening way too quickly; the others had said even her body hadn't disappeared for the better part of an hour. This was bad. Very bad.

She felt Kubikiri Orochi tense; the Hollow was moving. She brought the cleaver up in a defensive block as It leapt upwards, black steel flashing forward in sonído. Hiyori grit her teeth as the two's blades connected with a violent _crack_, her own zanpakutō snarling determinedly as she warded off the monster's blow. Zangetsu seemed to hiss with unrestrained violence as the Hollow struck forward again. Pushing heavily off the beast's blade, she hurled herself backward, the skeletal teeth of her own Hollow mask yawning wide as she blasted a Cero at her enemy.

The Hollow again hesitated, surprised by the attack. And then it grinned, holding out a clawed hand as it dissipated the technique. Hiyori stared, lost for a moment, then snarled, leaping forward with the Beheading Serpent raised. The monster stepped neatly aside, belying its impressive immensity, her heart skipping a beat as it lunged for her.

_Thwack_!

The Hollow screamed in frustration as the four bars of Kidō that had struck it down wrapped themselves around it, pinning it to the ground. Hiyori glanced around, noticing with some disquiet that Risa was making her way into the barrier. Her ten were already up?

"Tag out," the Yadōmaru said, quickly passing her to stand in front of the form of the Hollow, writhing against its bindings. With a snort, Hiyori pushed her mask to the top of her head, her black-and-gold eyes reverting to their usual restless brown, while a careless command pushed Kubikiri Orochi back into its more compact form.

"Don't go too easy on him," she muttered, "It ain't no punk kid holding back in there."

With a quick shunpo, she was out, the barrier swallowing up Risa behind her. The only injury she'd taken, a slight gash along her cheek, bled tiredly. But her thoughts were back in that cage of reiatsu, with her friend and the monster she faced. And the boy trapped inside that monster. He didn't have much longer; he'd have to get moving if he wanted to suppress the damn thing before they were forced to kill him.

She'd never admit it, but she was a little worried about the kid. A little. Maybe.

"A little worried about the kid?" said an annoyingly snide voice at her ear, "Maybe?"

Her ire shot to its peak, batting angrily at the grinning face of Hirako Shinji, "Who's worried? And the hell took you so long anyways?"

"I had some business to take care of," he said carelessly, eyes straying from her to the barrier, and the battle beyond, "And don't worry too much about him; he hasn't survived this long 'cause he's made of bread and water."

She snuck a quick look back across the training grounds, into the Hollow's malevolent golden eyes, and shivered involuntarily.

Seemed black wasn't the shade of Death after all.

XXXX

He was falling through darkness. It rushed by him, like the coldest breath of all the realms of oblivion, screeching like all the hounds of hell. The scabbed and blistered hands of wretches clawed at him as he plummeted ever deeper. An icy breath tingled along the rugged highway of his spine, his veins. And then, just as sudden as the fall, all was white. The blank, starched world was even less welcome than the darkness. It was empty and cold; a void of perpetual nothingness. Here he was nothing, insignificant, pointless.

With a startling jerk, his feet hit something solid. He dared to open his eyes. A plain of glass and concrete stretched away below and above him, the sky unfolding in a tapestry of blues and greys far above. He stared upward, steadfastly quelling his growing trepidation. And there It was. Hunched on the thin line between the broiling sky and his concrete plain, a white-clad figure grinned with a familiar sort of cruelty, burnished gold sneering down at him from the heights.

"Welcome back," He snickered, "Your Majesty."


	8. El Lado Oscuro Demonios

**Zero**

**Chapter 7**

**El Lado Oscuro Demonios**

No wind stirred around the concrete towers. No cars screeched along the asphalt avenues below. And not a hint of blue peered down through the oppressive sea of grey, the rumbling of the approaching storm as foreboding as the deep. The only sign of life was the stagnant ponds, the twisted and stunted trunks that lined the parade. That, and two lonely figures, painted against the cold backdrop.

Ichigo frowned, not daring to take his eyes from the hunched figure before him. The Hollow's maddened grin widened at his reticence. The Shinigami's frown became a snarl. Keeping his enemy in sight, he glanced around quickly. Despite his tension at being back here, someone was missing from their little gathering.

"The hell you looking for?"

Ichigo gritted his teeth, turning his focus back to his hated opponent. The Hollow smirked down at him from the heights, slowly rising from its crouch, "It's been damn quiet since you stopped coming round. Long time no see, Ichigo."

Ichigo bit back his own scathing comment, his voice coming out thick as he forced the question, "Where is old man Zangetsu?"

The Hollow bit off a harsh bark of icy laughter; Ichigo's flexed his fingers tensely. Eyes gleaming with cunning and malice sneered at him, "The hell are you talking about? That old guy hasn't been around here for a long time." A black gaze stared down, "But I guess you wouldn't know much about that, right? You seem to think those guys upstairs have got your whole situation under control."

It took him a moment to realise the Hollow was talking about the Vizard; it had his attention. It seemed to realise this, as it grinned, drawing a familiar cleaver over its shoulder, "Well I've got some shit news for ya. This ain't the real world; no cavalry's gonna hold me down for you in here." It paused, taking a sardonic step toward him, "Nothing the boys and girls up there can do will help you anymore; here on in, you're on your own."

Ichigo scowled, pulling his own cleaver from his shoulder, "Guess all I've got to do is take you down."

A heavy _clang_ rang out through the thick air of the shared soul as the two blades met. The Hollow grinned, "That ain't gonna happen."

Twirling the other's sword away, Ichigo ran his own toward the inside of the Hollow's arm. It swerved out of the way with insulting ease, a derisive snort falling from its cold, white lips, "Why don't ya actually put in some effort? I know you can do better than this." It bounced backwards several steps, before propelling itself off the hard concrete, "We are, after all, pretty damn alike."

"Shut the hell up!" Ichigo snarled, deflecting the blow, "The hell have you done with Zangetsu?"

The Hollow flipped back again, this time perching itself precariously on the tower's edge, eyeing him incredulously, "So what, you really don't get it?" The predatory chuckle that escaped it at the Kurosaki's poorly-masked confusion would have shamed a hyena. A chill breeze whistled across the peaks of the concrete and iron constructs as Ichigo's fervour was stoppered by the monster's scornful voice.

"I _am_ Zangetsu."

XXXX

Shinji frowned as Risa fell to the ground beside him, tiredly sealing up the long sceptre of Haguro Tonbo. On the other side of the immense barrier, Kensei was already wreaking havoc on the monstrous suit of armour that was Kurosaki Ichigo. Blasts of flaming, black reiatsu met the tearing, blue power of the Muguruma's Tachikaze. Shinji wasn't too worried. Well, not about Kensei anyway.

He peered across at the hulking Hollow. Nothing was left of the young Kurosaki; gleaming white bone covered the jet shade of his Shihakushō, while the familiar lined skull mask barely sufficed to hide the raw, malevolent instinct of the Hollow that consumed the boy. Zangetsu too, had been consumed, a long violent claw taking its place. Gleaming golden eyes shone with vile fierceness, though Shinji noted with relief the hint of caution gleaming in the black depths.

"Rationale; a good sign."

Shinji glanced at Love; the tall Vizard had obviously seen the same.

Hiyori scowled up at the Aikawa, "What are you on about?"

Shinji was the one to reply, his eyes never once leaving the Hollow inside the barrier, "Reason and rationality is at the heart of the Shinigami's stability and modus operandi; the Shinigami's power is ordered, refined. The Hollow, by contrast, is nothing but a bundle of pent-up instinct. The mask is the only thing which keeps all of that raw emotion locked up. The only thing which keeps a Hollow stable."

Hiyori grumbled, shaking her head. Love smiled, looking down at her, "He means that as long as that Hollow shows some sign of caution, then there's still some small amount of reason within him; Ichigo's Shinigami power is still fighting back. Look." Even as he spoke, the Hollow deflected a brutal blow from Kensei, a hint of calculated cunning flashing viciously through its eyes, "That tells us that Ichigo's still locked in there somewhere. Nothing to worry about."

"Who's worryin'?" Hiyori muttered, the flicker of her eyes toward the battlefield giving her away.

"As long as Ichigo can subjugate his Hollow before that reason disappears, then he'll be able to sort himself out," Shinji dropped, "It might be a bad joke, but it'll be when he draws on his own instinct to take out the Hollow's that he's gonna win." He paused, watching tiredly as Kensei delivered yet another bone-shattering blow, "It's also where the big struggle is, though; instinct is, traditionally, a lot more powerful than reason. While a Shinigami will usually operate on reason alone, it's their instinct that'll end up saving their coats from getting singed if they're ever caught in a hot spot. But a Hollow's instinct is a thousand times as powerful as a Shinigami's."

"It's the instinct of the stronger consciousness which takes over in the transformation process," Love said, watching impassively as Kensei blew the monster's arm off, "It's pretty obvious, but the stronger consciousness right now is the Hollow."

Rose broke in, "A Hollow has no rhyme or reason. They blindly follow their instincts. Normally, this would put a regular Hollow at a distinct disadvantage, simply for the fact that their thought processes are clouded by their base emotions, and their powers are limited to those of a Hollow, which are generally of a lower echelon than those of the Shinigami. However, Ichigo starts off with a huge disadvantage before he's even begun for the simple reason that, like an Arrancar, the Hollow within him is able to draw on Ichigo's Shinigami powers; its raw instinct is _reinforced_ by reason."

"Bottom line. If he can beat down that raw instinct of his inner Hollow, and can come out on top, he'll be just like us," Love murmured, "A firm grip on cold, hard reason, while also allowing the most important streaks of instinct to peek through."

Hiyori clutched her head, abandoning all pretences of indifference, "And if he doesn't come out on top …"

"If he doesn't come out on top," Shinji said quietly, "We're gonna be forced to put him down." Ignoring the troubled looks the others gave him, he turned to Hachi, "Yo, I'm heading in next."

XXXX

"Bankai!"

Ichigo glared at the long, snowy coat of his opponent. Snarled at the thin, white blade in his hand. The Hollow grinned at him, "What, you wanted me to take you with a bat?" It hefted Zangetsu, or the shell that resembled Zangetsu, over its shoulder with a snide grin, "Sorry, but I'm a little more comfortable with this thing."

The Kurosaki took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm. The Hollow's casual stance reeked of its overconfidence. Its assault would be hard and fast, but if Ichigo was careful, he could make sure that that would be its downfall. Ichigo knew from experience that his enemy would always abandon defence in favour of a ridiculously powerful offence. Hell, it was what Ichigo himself would do if given the chance. But that was just it. He couldn't take chances. Not with this enemy.

A cruel sneer crossed the Hollow's cold visage; Ichigo tensed. The concrete buckled under the monster's feet as it leapt forward Zangetsu slicing forward at lightning speeds. Ichigo swerved, swinging his own black Tensa Zangetsu across into his opponent's face. The Hollow deflected with a look of boredom, twirling his own white daitō expertly before plunging it forward again. Ichigo bit his already bleeding lip as the icy blade stung him, batting it away as he beat a rapid retreat.

"Don't bother with all that combat efficiency bullshit," the Hollow snorted, "You're gonna have to push yourself a lot harder than that if you're even thinking about taking me down."

"Fine," Ichigo grunted, angling the thin sword above his head, condensing as much of the reiatsu he could gather along the length of the blade. The dark energy swirled around him ominously, a thundercloud awaiting its explosion. With a roar, he swung down, "Getsuga Tenshō!"

The crow's wing of dark energy burnt through the concrete as if it were dust, tearing toward the snowy clone. The power in it would have shorn through Kuchiki Byakuya's Hakutaiken; there was no way the Hollow could take this head on and not feel it. But, to Ichigo's shock, the serpent merely shook his head in a schoolmaster's tut-tut, before dispelling the blast with an open palm-strike. The Kurosaki stared, his mouth agape.

"You still don't get it, do you?" It said, twirling its weapon with practiced ease, "You might have been the first guy to play the Queen, but I was the one to name her. I was the one who gave her power." His grin stretched wide; a Hatter's grin, "Let me show you how it's done."

Sliding its daitō beneath its arm, the Hollow made a big show of focusing all of its energy into its weapon. A look of intense concentration broke out across its deathly pale face, red and white reiatsu streaming from the Zangetsu tucked under its arm. With a little flourish, and a conspirator's wink at a suddenly terrified Ichigo, it sliced outwards, a witch's cackle fleeing across the cityscape, before a horrendous roaring filled the air.

"Getsuga Tenshō!"

In that moment, as the blinding streak of white-crimson reiatsu was hurtling toward him, Ichigo saw it. The Hollow's opening. It was the exact same opening that Ichigo himself had every time he used Zangetsu's signature move. And, just like when _he_ used it, the immense power of Getsuga Tenshō blotted out any hope he had of taking advantage of that opening. Hurling up his own daitō, he gathered as much of his power as he could and forced it into his block.

Then he was engulfed by white.

XXXX

Shinji was circling the battleground casually, watching the monster spin listlessly in the centre of the barrier, hopelessly enchanted by Sakanade's power, when it fell to one knee. The Hirako stopped, the spinning sword coming to a halt as he peered curiously at the armoured monstrosity. It was a little early for someone of Ichigo's reiatsu levels to be coming out of the Hollowification process. His grip on his zanpakutō tightened as the bulky frame turned toward him. And then a glinting, hate-filled gaze locked onto the skinny onetime Captain. This was bad.

Only a Hollow with immense power would be able to hope to see through Sakanade's illusion. There was only one way, after all. Instinct.

He dodged nimbly, the beast's attack falling slightly to the side of where he had been standing. That, at least, was a good sign. It was in line with what they'd been talking about earlier; if it continued to miss him in its assault, then, logically, Ichigo was still fighting back. But if its instinctual strikes got any closer, the Hollow would be in near total control. Frowning, he decided to test its limits. Spinning Sakanade into a firmer grip, he dived around behind the monster, darting in for a strike at its tail. The lumbering beast made no move to avoid it. He frowned as he sheared through the dense substance, the Hollow screaming in pain.

Dancing backwards, he spun his blade cautiously, eyeing the Hollow as it stared directly back at him. Troublesome.

It leapt forward. He leapt to the side. It clawed at him wildly, the flailing stump of its tail rapidly regenerating. He dodged again. On and on it went, until at last, Shinji saw his chance; moved to make the ultimate test. The other Vizard gawked as he swept in under the Hollow's defence, its raw power crashing against him like waves in a storm, and plunged Sakanade forward in a lethal stab.

And, in that briefest of moments before the sword struck, the raw rage of the Hollow subsided, a hint of caution entering its step as it dived clumsily out of the way. The tensed audience sighed with relief. Shinji grinned, knowing that somewhere in there, a Shinigami was fighting back.

"Keep it up, Ichigo."

XXXX

"Interesting."

The Hollow tested the shallow gash below its rib, gleaming eyes never leaving the weary figure of the Shinigami. Ichigo was panting, a long bloody slash running from his shoulder to his hip, the ragged memento of his hated enemy's attack. The shattered stump that was his own black blade hung limply in his clutch. Barring his hopeless fight against Aizen in the Seireitei, he'd never been as hopelessly outclassed as he was by this dark facet of his own soul. It was a cruel irony; the wielder of the dark Zangetsu was being overcome by his decidedly evil half.

"Very interesting," the Hollow murmured, its grin, for once, nowhere in sight, "Didn't think you'd be stupid enough to try and get me by coming straight through the friggin' shit storm, did I? But I guess I should know better. You'd think I'd be expecting something like that from you; 'specially after all the time we've spent together."

"Shut-up," Ichigo panted, tightly drawing his ragged cloak around his bloody wound, "Just shut the hell up."

"You'd think you'd be a little more polite to the one who's been carrying you all this time," the Hollow muttered, it's insane smirk slowly drifting back into place, "I am, after all, the one who's always had your back. Always been there to give you the power you need."

"Zangetsu is my partner." The stubborn reply, "Not you."

"Are ya deaf, or just plain stupid?" A humourless chortle, "I've told you before. I _am_ Zangetsu. He is me. That old guy that used to hang around these parts," he waved a hand around absently, gesturing to the ruins that lay in the wake of their battle, "He and I were part of the same whole. _We_ were the ones who gave you your power. And at first, that was all fine and dandy. But time changes everything, Ichigo, and as the old man's power weakened, mine grew stronger."

It grinned, running a hand over the gash at its side, the pale fingers that passed over leaving no trace of the wound that Ichigo had just inflicted, "Ya know the difference between a King and his Horse, Ichigo?"

Ichigo stared, completely thrown by the change of subject, and more than a little perturbed by the Hollow's instantaneous regeneration. The damn fight just wasn't balanced.

"And I don't mean any kindergarten bullshit," the Hollow was saying, "Like that one has four legs and the other has two. Assuming that they're two different beings, and their form, strength and abilities are exactly the same; when one becomes King and dominates the battle, the other becomes the Horse and lends him his power. But what I'm asking is," Here it raised the blade, as if in judgment, "What _makes_ that difference?"

A reluctant, exhausted panting escaped the Kurosaki as he glared back stubbornly, uncomprehending. The Hollow smacked its hand against the edge of the blade, slinging its answer down into his face.

"_Instinct_!"

"The one thing that all powerful people need to acquire power; the one thing that raises Kings, and places in their hands the capacity to destroy worlds," Its grin was a snarling rictus, "It's an eternal lust for the misery and violence of the battle. For the destruction of all those that stand in your way, to crush them all without mercy, to render all trace of them into nothing but a bloody memory." It paused, flaring its nostrils, "To desire strength above all else. You rip off our skin, carve away our flesh, grind our bones into dust; there in our very nerves lies a refined killer instinct, burned into us by the primal hierarchy!"

It stared at him, disgustedly now, their battle the ultimate drama and it the triumphant antagonist, "It's what you lack; that pure, raw instinct. You want to fight rationally and with reason. But who're you going to kill with a sheathed sword? That's why you're weaker than me, Ichigo. _That_ is why _I_ will always be better than you."

The blade was cold as ice as it slid into his belly. Ichigo stared at it, dumbfounded. The Hollow screeched his victory to the skies.

"It's why you will _never_ beat me."

XXXX

Shinji bit his lip. The other Vizard were solemn, silent. Love had just deflected a monstrously high-powered Cero. Hachi was waiting for the signal to open the barrier. The timer stood at seventy minutes and eleven seconds.

Ichigo's time was up.

The Hollow's power was already reaching dangerous levels. Blackened lood was leaking from the holes in its mask, the hatred and malice that composed its entire being flooding the dusty plan below Karakura. For any of them to try and take it on now would be akin to their opposing one of the upper-class Espada in its released form; near suicide, no matter what additional abilities fate was unkind enough to grant them.

Love staggered out of the barrier, looking a more than a little winded. Trapped alone inside the barrier, the Hollow screeched its rage to the heavens. The Vizard looked on, disappointment and frustration the flavour of the hour. Rose was the first to break the silence.

"I suppose, we'd best end it then."

One by one, the others gave reluctant nods. The hulking construct had shown nothing but raw emotion and instinct for nearly twenty minutes now. There had been no sign of the reason that drove him, no sign of cool. The Hollow's attacks had all been of the most insane violence, uncaring of the damage that came upon itself. If Ichigo had any chance to seize on his instincts, odds were that opportunity was already long gone.

"Hachi," Shinji grunted, slipping Sakanade from her sheath once more, "Open the barrier."

The portly Kidō master hesitated, then nodded slowly, his fingers slowly shaping the forms that would tear down what was, ironically, the only thing protecting the rampant beast that was Ichigo's remains.

"Wait!"

Shinji glanced at Hiyori, surprised and not surprised. The diminutive Vizard glared back at him, "Give me one more round."

The other six shared brief looks. While it was never spoken for fear of invoking the short girl's wrath, it was well-known that Hiyori was the weakest of the eight exiles. She'd been sent inside the barrier early in the line-up for precisely that reason; it was unlikely she'd be able to handle the Hollow this far into its transformation.

"If anyone wants to stop me," she growled warningly, as if reading their minds, "Then they're gonna have to hold me down themselves. 'Cause I ain't gonna give up on the new guy just yet."

Shinji glanced at the others, then into the determined brown orbs staring up at him, daring him to deny her. He sighed, then gave her a hard look, "Fine. You've got ten minutes. He hits you once; we're moving in."

That, at least, the stubborn Sarugaki seemed willing to understand. With a brisk nod, she dashed off to take Love's place.

XXXX

Ichigo's eyes blinked open.

The familiar curve of Zangetsu's Shikai lay at his side; he gave it a hard look. After a long moment, he hesitantly picked it up, staring out at the new world beyond. The burnt sands of a desert surrounded him, arid sands racing away from him in every direction. He looked down slowly, frowning at the yawning, dark hole before him. He crept forward on hand and knee, peering cautiously down into the dank shadows. He started; he knew this place. The Shattered Shaft.

What the hell was going on?

"You ready, Ichigo?" he jumped at the sound of the familiar voice, a rough relief grinding through him as he caught sight of Renji.

"Yo, Renji," he muttered, climbing slowly to his feet, "Wha-"

_Shing_.

The thin line of grey that was Zabimaru slammed against the heavy steel of Zangetsu, Ichigo's reflexes swooping down to rescue him from the rage and power flooding out of the Sixth Division Fukutaichō. The shape of the Abarai grinned, "I don't know any Renji." With a bestial roar, the Lieutenant's blade dissolved into its Shikai, Zabimaru whipping around the Kurosaki before raking its way across his back. He gasped in pain, staring in abject bewilderment at his friend.

"What the hell are you doing?" he roared, "We've got no reason to fight."

Renji raised an eyebrow, "Do you need a reason?"

Another voice interjected. "We fight because we can."

The shark that was Zaraki Kenpachi chuckled as he dropped from the sky, the jagged edge of his zanpakutō tearing into the earth by Ichigo's sandals. The Kurosaki swore as he sidestepped, shunpo carrying him to the peak of the stone cliffs nearby.

"It's 'cause we're born to fight, Ichigo," the Eleventh Division Captain said, wrenching the sword from the ground, "No matter what you might think, a fight ain't over 'til one guy's dead. Admit it, kid." The imposing figure stared up at him. "You want power. You _want_ to fight."

The Deputy Shinigami stared down at them, their words having a frighteningly familiar echo.

"Those that seek strength," Renji echoed, "Whether it's for themselves or for others, are forced to seek battle. Do you fight in order to get stronger? Or do you want strength in order to fight? Whatever your answer is doesn't matter, 'cause far as we're concerned, it seems that we're destined to carve the same path."

Kenpachi smiled, the expression reeking of danger, "The path of endlessly seeking battle."

"You keep instinctively looking for battle, for the violence and intensity of the bloodshed, for the simple fact that you want to get stronger."

A cold voice pierced the heavens, cracking and shattering the arid landscape, casting it to the four winds.

"So fight."

XXXX

The storm swirled above the cityscape, lightning dancing atop the concrete peaks. A cold, white cackle echoed out through the downpour, the Hollow capering madly about its dark world. Freedom. It was a thing craved by all sentient beings. Ichigo had taken it for granted. The Hollow would be sure it didn't waste something so precious. His grin was immovable, a little jig capturing its feet.

It was so distracted, it didn't see the streak of black racing out of the crumbled ruins until it was too late. Ichigo, blood pouring from his wounds, plunged the white daitō into its belly, the familiar jet of Zangetsu shooting up from the hilt. He stared up into his enemy's eyes, all traces of his earlier fear vanishing as a bolt of sunlight pierced the maelstrom of the skies, a hard determination glinting where before there had been terror. And there was something else. The Hollow peered closer. And then it laughed.

"So you still had some of that will to fight in you?" It choked, coughing as the spreading darkness reached its navel, then reached down and grabbed hold of the blade, a manic grin leaping into its golden eyes. Ichigo stared as a bone white pallor crept out from its fingertips, eating away at the black that signified his return. Golden eyes gleamed with malice as they stared into his own.

"Sorry, Ichigo. I ain't letting up that easy."

XXXX

Shinji stared as the Hollow suddenly stopped mid-strike, its raw ferocity vanishing as a howl of agony was torn from its throat. Despite the huge distance that lay between him and the monster, he still saw the flash of dark brown in the Hollow's eye. Elation filled him; he quickly gestured to Hachi. The large man hurriedly complied, opening up the barrier just wide enough for Hiyori to beat a hasty escape, a triumphant _Told-Ya-So_ plastered across her face. Shinji gave her the slightest of nods, before glancing at the timer. The process had taken one hour, fourteen minutes, and three seconds. A mere five minutes longer than Hiyori's own, but a close call, nonetheless.

The monster screamed as it began to implode, an arm of bony armour shattering, revealing the stringy, bare flesh beneath. And then, to Shinji's horror, the deconstruction of the Hollow, just as suddenly as it began, ceased. But the shrieking didn't. The body heaved on the floor, thrashing violently on the ground. It seemed to claw at its face for a moment, an echo of Ichigo trying to tear away the Hollow's power over him, before it drove both claws into the hard earth.

A ghostly keening wailed out through the training grounds of the Vizard.

Shinji stared in horrified fascination as the bulk seemed to reach toward the odd group of exiles, before hurling its remaining clawed arm around in a wide arc. Realisation dawned, Shinji's eyes widened to the breadth of a full moon.

"Shit!"

He spun to Hachi, "Drop the damn barrier." He glanced at the others, a hard look coming into his eyes, "We've got to destroy that guy. There's no time to argue this time; just do it."

Unsurprisingly, it was Hiyori who grunted, "You're friggin' kidding. All this, all the trouble I went to, and you're just going to wipe him out."

"I told you, this ain't like the last time," Shinji shouted, shocking the Vizard, "You guys don't get shit. He's trying to-"

A terrifying ripping sound filled the air as the Hollow-Ichigo tore the open the yawning gateway that was Garganta. The Vizard turned as one, too late realising their dilemma. Eight zanpakutō spun into hands, but it was already too late. With a bone-rattling howl, the ragged remains of the Shinigami-Hollow leapt through the portal, the dimensional tear closing up behind him.

There was a moment of dead silence.

In the next, all of the Vizard, and the shattered creature that was Ichigo, were gone.

XXXX

Ichigo pushed.

The Hollow pushed back.

Black and White.

An eternal fight on the dark side of the universe.

Instinct grappled with instinct.

The Defender fought the Invader.

"This one's my win."

"Go to hell."

XXXX

The monster leapt from the portal.

It _was_ destruction.

XXXX

All across the city of Karakura, the battlers screeched to a halt. A blinding power was flaring on the western fringes of the town, waves of red and black rocketing into the sky above the glinting water that was the river. An aura of evil and malice crushed the warriors, their war halted. The sheer weight of the reiatsu was a dozen times as oppressive as the terrifying technique which had torn through the dawn sky only an hour before. But this was more than terrifying. This was paralysing.

Hitsugaya Tōshirō stared across the city. He had never felt anything as powerful as this, in all his days as a Captain. No Hollow was this powerful, no Arrancar that he'd yet faced had this much reiatsu at their disposal. Far below him, the remains of the Sexta Espada were smothered within a sarcophagus of crystalline ice, Daiguren Hyōrinmaru's frosty legacy the only reminder that he had ever been. A slight tingle ran up the Captain's spine, a shiver running him through at the immensity of the power radiating off the river to the west. _That_ was a new feeling.

Several miles to the east, Matsumoto and Yumichika were helping the rent form of Madarame Ikkaku up off the pavement, ripping the Third Seat's ointment from the butt of Hōzukimaru, the zanpakutō's indignity at being used by another almost tangible. The two stared up at the horizon, the third squinting through a red, fractured gaze. The power drowned them, pushed them down. The two able Shinigami shared a look. In a moment, Matsumoto was gone, Yumichika standing guard over the prostrate, protesting figure of his partner.

On the edge of the industrial district, Inoue Orihime heaved herself over the squat wire fence, dashing ever closer to the heart of the rundown area. Reiatsu brimming with hatred and grief flooded over her, through her. It was almost unrecognisable. Almost. She liked to think she knew Ichigo well enough to identify the boy through the thick haze. She raced on.

All across Karakura, the battlers and the racers watched with a mixture of abject fear and apprehension as the fierce reiatsu in the city's edge district ebbed and flowed. At times it seemed as raging and hating as the basest of the rake's moods, the monster of the dark and dingy world that ruled misrule; at others it fell, becoming nearly tranquil, stable, before flaring back into its fury. Up and down it went. Chaos fought order. And when at last, it seemed that it would stretch out and engulf the city, it was sucked away in the barest of instants.

Silence fell.

Far away, in his shop on the outskirts of the old town, the shadowy figure of Urahara Kisuke scratched his chin thoughtfully, a small smile kidnapping his curious frown.

XXXX

The Vizard stared at the scene of destruction before them. Hachi's doubly layered barrier had done enough to at least weaken the power of the Hollow's Garganta. Rather than carry it all the way to Hueco Mundo, as it had no doubt intended, the monster's portal had instead abandoned it on the shores of the river that speared the heart of Karakura town. And it seemed the monster had taken out its fury on the old industrial district.

Flotsam and rusted iron barrels floated dejectedly on the surface of the old water, the scattered remnants of the wharves and the ancient boatsheds bobbing dismally downstream. Entire factories were nothing more than smoking holes, the burning stench of the Hollow's reiatsu shrieking at them in the wake of its Cero. Vehicles were overturned, trucks scorched. The scene was like something out of a film.

And at the centre of it all, lay the cracked hull of the Hollow. Swords slid from sheathes in a discordant harmony.

They descended.

XXXX

He peeked out of bloody eyes, his vision more than a little blurred. A cracked skull-mask, lined in black, grinned at him from several feet away. The Karakura docks ran away from him along the river, the mangled and rusted iron towers of industry leaning over him. Craters lined the shore, an abandoned wharf blown to pieces by the water. Did he do it? He didn't know. He didn't even know how he got to be there. Then again, right now, he didn't really care.

He rolled slightly, tired gaze drifting skyward. Eight figures huddled around him, faces cast in shadow, an uncounted number of emotions running their features. He thought he might have recognised relief. Words, new to his previously deaf ears, drifted down to him, lifting him from the broken corpse of his hated foe.

"Close call, kid," Shinji said, a grin Ichigo thought he might actually grow to like stretched across his face, "How're you feeling?"

He didn't smile; he didn't think he was capable. Not yet. But it might have shown in his eyes.

"Not too bad."

He swayed unsteadily as he made his feet. Someone put a hand out. He grasped it like a lifeline. It was then that he noticed the slight weight in his hand. He glanced down, and this time, the barest hint of an exhausted smile tweaked at the corners of his mouth. Tensa Zangetsu hung from his hand, blade of polished black shining loyally in the light of the early morning sun.

The softest of whispers. Of echoes.

"_Don't forget. Don't you ever friggin' forget. You may be King for now, sure. But if you waver, if you ever weaken, just remember. I'll always be waiting to buck you off, and crush your skull."_

He tightened his grip on Zangetsu, a steel throttle.

"Sorry," he rasped, "But that ain't gonna happen."

In the distant corners of his soul, he imagined he heard a peal of high, cold laughter.

And then it was gone.


End file.
